Vice
by chezchuckles
Summary: AU: Beckett is a uniform on the Vice squad at the 12th. It's five years before the season one meeting. Cartographical sent me and Sandiane Carter a list of AUs she wanted to see. We were both so excited about Vice Beckett that we each wrote our own. This is mine. Thanks to garnetgivealittlelove for the cover art.
1. Chapter 1

**Vice**

* * *

for cartographical -  
just going down your list, Jessie

* * *

Richard Castle trolled the party, raking a hand down his cheek and scratching his stubble as he searched for her. A glimpse was all he'd gotten before she'd been swallowed up by the crowd.

Dark hair chopped short and spiky, smoky eyes rimmed in black, the highest heels he'd ever seen a woman wear. Red dress that literally wrapped around her body, like it was a ribbon, barely covering her, leaving so much milky skin begging to be devoured, pushing her breasts up to his eyes.

And then gone.

Meredith caught his arm as he passed, yanked on him. "Where you going, hot stuff?"

He grinned into her amusement and shook her off. "Looking for someone."

"Careful, pretty boy," she simpered, curling up at his side. Castle hunched over her, loving the hot and firm length of her pressed against him. She was his ex, she was simple, and she was always up for it. They'd had some crazy- "There are a ton of hookers at this party, Ricky."

"What?" he laughed, glancing around the wide room once more. It was one of those Arts things that Meredith and his mother were always roping him into, raising money for theatre or school music programs or something. A Dance Academy? Maybe that was it.

"Hookers."

"You're kidding me," he laughed again, eyebrows furrowing as he regarded his ex-wife. She was bordering on seriously drunk, even though five years ago she'd promised- "Hey, who's taking you home?"

"You are," she smirked, twining her arm around him, lifting her eyebrows.

Ah, well. Meredith was easier (note he did not say _easy_), and definitely not a hooker. Who knew about that woman in the red dress?

Red dresses screamed escort.

And he needed to stay away from Gina for a while. She'd been eyeing him lately, and he thought it wasn't smart at all to get involved with his publisher.

But he wasn't sure he could resist.

Gina had a body-

"Take me, Ricky. Home."

* * *

Castle was just heading for the door, an arm around Meredith's waist (she better not be too drunk for sex; she was so not sleeping it off in his bed with Alexis a few doors down), when he saw her again.

That girl. Woman. Entirely delicious, sensual, bad-ass-looking dominatrix of a woman.

"You think she's a hooker?" Castle asked his ex, wishing he could drop her to pursue the woman in red.

"Look at her shoes," Meredith slurred. "Not even I can wear shoes that slutty."

"Yeah, they are kinda slutty," he grinned goofily, letting his eyes rake down her legs, dwell on those red, high heeled, kitten-toe shoes. He wanted to have her and make her leave the shoes on. He wanted to feel those spikes digging into the back of his thighs as she-

Meredith patted his cheek. "Aw, poor Ricky. To make up for it, we can do something naughty tonight."

"If you don't pass out on me," he muttered, still watching the woman as she sauntered towards a back table. A man was already approaching her from behind, and as she turned to speak, her eyes caught Castle's and held.

He sucked in a breath, couldn't look away.

She was haunting. Haunted.

More than sexy-as-hell escort-hooker, she was practically bleeding from her eyes with all that tragedy trapped in one fierce gaze.

He wanted her.

But he wanted her story too.

And he didn't know which one was more appealing to have - the heels or the history.

* * *

Meredith passed out on him. Of course. She had a few sloppy moves and then she fell asleep while he was stripping off his clothes.

Whatever. Castle yanked the comforter out from under her and covered her up, then pulled on his pajamas pants. Meredith was always a fun time - their sexual encounters were as few and far between as he could possibly resist, not exactly healthy for him, but certainly scrumptious.

Like a twinkie. Mm, cream filling and-

No, more like a deep-fried twinkie. So very not good for him. Bad for his heart. And for Alexis's heart, damn it. He'd have to spin this carefully.

_Mom just needed a place to stay after our party, pumpkin_.

Looks like Castle was sleeping in the guest room tonight. Make sure Alexis didn't see her parents together. A ten year old who thought herself so mature, so wise, still shouldn't have to handle her parents in the same room, sleeping together but not _together_.

Especially since he'd lately gotten the idea that Alexis didn't much _like_ her mother.

Grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch, Castle trudged upstairs.

* * *

He had vivid dreams all night. They woke him aching and hard and desperate.

All of them were about her.

The weird thing was that they started off talking - just talking - and who did that? Of course, there was the brush of hands, the slide of her thigh over his, chests pressed together even as he tried to get that dress off her.

But they were talking first. She was telling him a story. And not that it made him hot for her, but it did.

It made him hot for her.

He used his mouth to unwrap her, one long, red, satin ribbon slowly unwinding from her lithe, amazing body. She arched into his mouth and ran her hand down his back, squeezed his ass, told him to go faster.

Faster, Castle.

And then he woke up, startled from his dream by the use of his last name. Damn it.

But her face - those eyes - were burned into his brain, haunting and familiar and fierce.

He'd know her again anywhere.

* * *

Castle hustled Meredith out of the loft before Alexis woke, put his ex in a cab still half-asleep and not quite sober. When he got back inside, his daughter chose that very moment to descend the stairs, looking fresh and awake. He hoped she hadn't noticed he was gone, but she only headed for the kitchen, so he followed, setting out breakfast.

He didn't realize he was doing it until Alexis asked him what _escort_ meant. Castle slapped the paper down on the kitchen table and stared at his daughter.

"It's when you buy a date. They escort you for money. An escort."

Alexis wrinkled her nose and grabbed the box of Raisin Bran (why? when there was perfectly good Cookie Crisp sitting right here on the counter?). "Daddy, you don't need to buy dates. Everyone wants to date you."

"No. Right, no. I don't have to buy dates." He was checking out the escort ads though, wasn't he? Right in front of his daughter at the breakfast table.

This was so not good.

His phone rang and he glanced at the caller ID, winced when he saw the number. "It's Rick Castle," he said.

"Rick, photo shoot at nine," his agent crowed into the phone. Castle held the device away from his ear and grimaced, making his daughter laugh.

"Photo shoot for what? I write books."

"You have 18 best sellers, Rick Castle. People want to see that handsome mug. We're gonna do a sexy spread for GQ."

GQ? "I'm there," he said quickly. "But I'm keeping my pants on. Alexis, that's the rule for photos - never nude. Paula, when and where?"

Alexis was giggling with her hand over her mouth, trying not to spit out Raisin Bran. Paula gave him the details and Castle jotted them down on a napkin using the blue pen he'd had in his hand. . .while looking for escort services.

He was tempted to call the charity foundation that had hosted that party a few nights ago, but he didn't want that getting around. Rick Castle looking for an escort?

Only so much bad boy could be out there before his daughter started hearing it at school.

"Dad?" Alexis asked, holding up the paper even as he hung up with Paula. "What's a sting?"

He glanced at the photo and saw the article: NYPD Undercover Sting. . .

_blah blah blah_

"That is an excellent question," he smirked at her, reaching out and tapping her nose. "It calls for a movie answer."

"A movie answer?" she squealed, sitting up straight in her chair and then lunging out at him. Castle got a tight, squeezing hug around his neck and patted her back.

"Movie answer."

"How many movies?"

"Oh, I'm thinking at least 2. Maybe 3. It is a Saturday."

"Let me go get my pajamas back on," she said, sounding a little breathless. "Oh, and popcorn with M&Ms?"

"Of course. What else?"

He watched his daughter scramble up from the dining table and then haul ass for the stairs. The grin slipped off his face as he glanced back to the newspaper.

Had he really been circling escort ads while his daughter sat here?

He needed to get this under control.

She was gone; he'd never find her again.

_Move on, Rick. Find a new story._

* * *

She was ten, and heavy, but she was still his kid.

Rick gathered his daughter up, all spindly legged, knobby-kneed, and lolling head, carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. After they'd watched _The Sting_ and then _Catch Me If You Can_, he had reluctantly allowed Alexis to respond with_ Dirty Dancing_ - _it's about pretending to be a beautiful dancer, Dad, so that's a con, and falling in love_ - and then _Strictly Ballroom_, the Baz Luhrmann film, just because Alexis thought it was so funny. _  
_

They'd gone from great con artist movies to dancing. Of course. That was his life, usually. He talked a good game at the parties, the book events, and then he came home to his ten year old and watched _Dirty Dancing_ and sang along to 'Love Is Strange' - _ Oh, Sylvia -_ because his daughter loved it so much.

_And if she still doesn't answer?_

Castle lowered Alexis to her bed, surprised again at how long she was, how she was growing up. No longer a little kid, but not a preteen either. Soon enough now. And then she'd be graduating from high school and leaving him, and he'd be a mess.

Castle tugged the covers out from under her and pulled them up, letting the purple comforter billow out over her body.

"Until tomorrow, Alexis," he murmured and then kissed her forehead.

He should write. Before Gina called and he was forced into another awkward, faintly sexual conversation with her in which she continuously made him answer, _How long is it now?_

* * *

He was lost.

Shit. Paula was going to skin him alive if he missed this photo-shoot. This was exactly the thing he needed to break out of the spy-thriller genre the critics had pigeon-holed him because of Derrick Storm. He'd been a solid Stephen King at the beginning of his career, thriller with mystery, and now he was more like a poor-man's Ludlum or Crichton.

He needed some debonair, pop culture exposure to get him back on top again. And a new story.

He was already getting tired of Derrick Storm. Storm and his damn love interest, Clara Strike. Shit.

Sophia.

Shit. He was one messed up puppy. He needed a new muse, needed someone who wasn't her, needed to stop thinking about her and wondering why she'd totally fallen off his radar, obsessing over whether or not she was dead, if that last mission had finally gotten her or if she was just tired of him and his questions and his chasing after her.

She was gone. He'd never see her again. She'd said so herself.

Where _was_ this damn photo-shoot?

* * *

He drove slowly down the side street, practically an alley, and tried to avoid scraping the bottom of his car on the rough pavement. A dumpster was leaning crookedly against the brick building to his left, a string of not so great establishments on his right, a convenience store with bars on the windows down at the corner, a Buddha in the window.

He crept forward, eyes peeled for the warehouse-studio where he was supposed to be doing his photo-shoot, and then he caught sight of the XXX sign, _Live Nude Girls_, before his gaze tripped down to the woman standing outside the establishment.

Holy shit, it was her.

No way.

Castle saw her hands on her hips, the infinitely long lines of her legs, and the cherry-red, just-kissed pucker of her mouth. She was watching him too.

She was wearing a tube top for a skirt, purple mid-calf boots, and her top just - dazzled his brain.

He crept even more slowly and then pulled over, lowering the passenger side window. Cold winter wind slashed through his car, swirled inside, and he shivered even in his coat, wondered how the hell the woman could do that, stand on the corner in practically nothing.

Wait. Wasn't she an escort? Why was she street-walking?

Castle leaned over as the woman - oh, damn, she was practically a kid - stalked towards his car and leaned in the window, elbows propped on the door frame of his Ferrari.

"Nice car," she murmured, lifting an eyebrow at him and then smacking her gum. He had an awesome view down her shirt, her breasts lifted and practically spilling out of her cowl-neck, sparkly top. Her hips shifted, drawing his attention to what he could see of the rise of her ass.

"Thanks," he said stupidly and wondered how the hell she'd gone from escort to prostitute. Not that an escort wasn't a prostitute - well, surely sometimes they weren't, right? He didn't want her to be a prostitute; she was too. . .much for that.

"You looking for something?" she asked, eyebrow lifted again like she was laughing at him. Her fingertips dangled inside the car, long and lithe, and she had real tone to her muscles as she shifted. Her skin glowed, faintly golden, but with a paleness to that deep v between her breasts.

She couldn't be a prostitute. She had the act, the bored voice, the sway of her hips, the nonchalance, but she couldn't. The pale skin at her chest, the health of that golden glow, the strength in that tight, hot body-

"I'm lost, actually," he said, blinking and meeting her eyes. Oh. . .wow. Big mistake. Her eyes were sucking out his soul in a way her body never could.

"Lost, baby?" One of her fingers quirked. "Want me to find you?"

He blinked hard and broke eye contact, glanced out the window. A rusted out, blue van was parked at the next corner.

No fucking way. She was a cop.

Wow, she was _good._

"Not like that," he said finally, and turned back to meet her eyes with a grin. "I'm being serious. I'm lost. Supposed to be going to a photo-shoot, and I know I wrote the address down correctly, but I can't find it."

Her eyes shimmered with something that seemed reflected in that shirt, and then she glanced away, her head turning and exposing the gorgeous line of her neck. He wanted to lick the column of her throat and nibble at her ear.

She was a cop.

Had to be.

Her head snapped back to his, but she still carried the same tone, same purr to her voice. "Want me to take a look, baby?"

He nodded, struck dumb by her again, and handed over the address he'd written when Paula had called.

Her face changed, something like regret or chagrin maybe, and she gave a soft laugh that could have been - recognition? or acceptance. She _recognized_ him?

She laughed again, and her eyes gave him a long, slow perusal that held entirely too much intelligence. "Well, look at that. You're almost on top of it."

"You're kidding me," he said, glancing through the windshield again and searching for a sign.

"You see that van at the corner?"

"Yeah," he said, surprised she'd pointed it out. She _was_ a cop, wasn't she?

"It's blocking the sign. A little white placard nailed into the brick. Lyons' Studio. He's a big name around here."

Castle glanced warily at the _Live Nude Girls_ and winced. "He is?"

"Kind of a bastard, if you want to know, but I hear his photos are magnificent."

"You do, huh?" He quirked a smile at her and reached out for his slip of paper, brushing her fingers as he did. The jolt of arousal that sped through him at her touch made him breathless.

She seemed to feel it too, or at least see it in him, because she leaned heavier on his window and shot a glance down at his groin. "You sure I can't do a little finding for you?"

Fuuuuuck. "No, very sure." Not sure at all. "But, I, uh - I took up your time, didn't I?" He wondered if paying her would be - what if she wasn't a cop? And then, even if she was, paying her for information wasn't illegal, so he could-

He dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "I don't know this works for you, but well. Thanks for giving me directions." He flashed her a smile and pressed a twenty into her hand.

He saw her face fall the moment he did it; she curled her hand around his and her head bowed, nearly to their hands.

"Shit," she said softly, all trace of tone and accent completely gone.

He moved to take his hand back, surprised at her, and she lifted her head. Her eyes were fierce even though she looked somehow defeated.

"You're under arrest," she sighed.

She _was_ a cop!


	2. Chapter 2

**Vice**

* * *

"I knew you were a cop," the man said the moment Beckett came down for him. She'd managed to change into jeans and a dark, longe-sleeved sweater, but he was bouncing on his toes, his arms through the bars, his cheeks and chin scattered with stubble.

"You paid me," she said with a sigh.

"I totally made you," he crowed, his eyes bright and blue and-

Shit. Richard _freaking_ Castle. How the hell did she have the bad luck of running into this guy twice in the last week? And not just run into him, but have to arrest the stupid idiot?

"If I were you, Mr. Castle, I'd shut my mouth," she grumbled, gesturing for him to back away as she put the key in the lock. He was in the zoo, but a fierce glare at the motorcycle gang member that hulked nearby was enough to keep the peace.

Richard Castle stepped out and was on her like a puppy dog, but with sex appeal. "Why? I'm stoked. You're a cop! Do you know how awesome this is?"

"What I do know is that bribing an officer of the law is illegal and will get you infinitely more jail time-"

"Oh, ho - hold up. Wait a second. I wasn't bribing you-"

"What was the twenty for?" she hissed, shoving him forward to keep their conversation from being overheard by the rest of them. "You're like a big kid-"

"I'm the kid?" he laughed. "You can't be more than twenty. What-"

"I'm twenty-three," she grit out, glaring at him as she led him up the stairs. "And what-"

"This is so cool. I needed a little inspiration and you're just - wow. I mean, one night you're pretending to be an escort at a charity party and then the next day you're standing on the street? What kind of crazy-amazing life-"

"My life is not amazing," she said, her voice flat. "And you've made bail."

She hated the long, intense look he leveled on her. "How's that?"

"What do you mean?" she said derisively, leading him back towards the desk sergeant.

"I made bail? Who bailed me out?"

"The charges were dropped," she clarified. "You're free to go."

"Who dropped the charges?"

"God, you are relentless," she groaned, and nodded to Sergeant Harkins sitting at grand central. "Hey, Sarge. Got a release. He needs his stuff."

"Ah, you're the john," Harkins said, glancing up only briefly from the tall desk he sat behind.

Richard Castle looked like he was going to split his face with that grin. Beckett sighed and grabbed the release forms from Sarge, shoved them into Castle's hands.

"Sign these."

"I'm a john! This is amazing."

"You're not a john," she growled. "You made the stupid mistake of trying to pay me for directions, you big idiot."

He grinned wider and wriggled an eyebrow. "Was it good for you?"

"No," she said flatly. "You cost me paperwork."

"Oh, I bet even your _paperwork_ is awesome. Filled with your accounts of sleasy take-downs and slutty-"

"Watch your mouth," Sarge barked.

Beckett gave the older man a startled glare, confused by his paternal instincts. Yeah, he was her father's age, but-

"Oh shit," she muttered, rubbed her forehead. "Sarge - I think I left - is my dad still here?"

"Your dad?" Castle asked, still all bouncy and sexy next to her. His arm brushed hers and he handed her back the release forms. "He a cop too? Does it run in the family? How many generations are we talking here?"

Beckett rifled through the pages as Sarge looked up her father's name in the system.

"Still here, Beckett."

"Damn." She spotted a few missed signatures and handed Castle the sheets. "Sign these. Pay attention."

Harkins grunted from the desk. "Want me to call him up?"

"Yeah, I need to get him out."

"Your dad is in _jail_?" Castle gaped.

She shot him a fierce, potent scowl, everything in her rising up to defend her father. "You-"

"No. Hey." He was clutching the pages and shaking his head at her, something horror-struck on his face that made her guts twist. "Hey, I'm not - this won't - you have nothing to worry about. I've got family - I know how it is."

"You have an acoholic father who can't manage to keep it together?" she bit out, and immediately regretted it.

"I have an ex-wife, and I have a mother who operates better if she's not sober. Do they count?"

She turned her eyes back to him and swallowed hard, but words didn't come.

"Beckett. They're bringing your dad up from the drunk tank now."

Castle looked firmly planted, his eyes never left hers.

She sighed and turned back to the desk. "Thanks, Sarge."

* * *

He refused to sign his release papers until her father came up. He wanted to see. She looked ready to kill him; she even tried that slutty come-on stuff - granted, in a low voice, her back to the guy at the desk - but nope, not-uh. Nothing doing.

He was staying right here.

He'd found his muse.

Good-bye Clara Strike.

Hello, Beckett.

"Wait, what's your first name?"

She shot him a startled look, her hands in fists. "If I tell you my name, will you leave?"

"No. I can find out."

She growled again and advanced on him, and wow, shit-wow. She was gorgeous. Hot as hell, her body tight and thrumming.

"You make a great hooker, you know? An even better Dominatrix. But-"

"What the hell?" she hissed, shoving on his shoulder.

"My mouth sometimes opens without my permission," he said, not at all apologetic. "Your life is-"

"You have no right to my life. Why can't you just leave?"

"You're fascinating," he shrugged. "And I'm a writer. I've been looking-"

"I know you're a writer. But you don't get to just decide-"

"You know I'm a writer?" he asked, watching her face as it flushed, deep and angry to cover her initial embarassment. He stepped in closer, felt the heat of her long body near his. "You a fan, Beckett?"

She didn't step back; she narrowed her eyes and the hollow of her neck was pulsing with the irregular beat of her nervous heart. But she didn't step back. She stepped up.

Wow.

"How big a fan are you, Beckett?"

"She's your biggest fan," a voice came from behind him.

In an instant, he saw her eyes close in abject misery, but he was already turning around to meet the man. Her father.

"She is?" he asked, assessing the older man with the prominent nose, strong jaw, but wiry frame. He looked disheveled, a little worse for wear, hair shot through with grey, but he held himself with dignity and steel. "Mr. Beckett? I'm Rick Castle."

"Jim Beckett. And I know who you are. My daughter has your books. My wife-" Here his eyes went dark, hooded, his adam's apple bobbed. "-loved them."

Loved. Past tense. Oh, damn.

Castle turned his head to look at Beckett; she had her eyes closed, both hands in fists, her chest rapid. Like she was counting slowly to ten. He studied her wardrobe - the designer jeans, the styled haircut, the cashmere sweater. Straight teeth, nose entirely too perfect to be real (though it could be), and that air of self-possession. She didn't belong here.

"So that's your story," he murmured, mostly to himself, but her eyes snapped open and she stared straight at him.

He felt cleaved in two at that look, wanted only to have never said it. To take it back. Her eyes were swimming, but she grit her teeth and turned her gaze to her father.

"Dad."

"Why'd you leave me in there so long?" he said back.

"I got called out. Calm down. It was only a couple hours."

Castle swiveled his head back to her father and realized he should never have stayed.

This woman wasn't like the others.

* * *

She was going to cry and that was just - so not acceptable. Not in front of him. Not in front of _either_ of them - her father or her favorite author.

This was turning into one of the (many) worst days of her life.

"Dad," she said again and shoved past Castle to get to her father. She grabbed him by the elbow and turned him towards the doors, felt the looseness of his body, the sway in his balance that told her the past few hours in the drunk tank hadn't sobered him completely.

Oh God. _I need help._

"Get off me," her father growled. "I don't need you interfering in my life-"

"That's what she said to me," Castle piped up, coming along beside her with that entirely too interested look on his face. "Like father, like daughter."

"Shut up," she spat at him, then turned her back on the man who just wouldn't leave her in peace to deal with the man who just wouldn't-

Wouldn't find any peace either. They made quite a trio.

"Dad. I'm putting you in a cab."

"Who's the parent here?" he said, tugging his elbow out of her grip. He was a steady drunk, a good drunk; he was always so sweet and conciliatory when he was drunk. It was only when he was sober that he got that soulsick tone to his voice, the bitterness in his eyes.

So he was more sober than she'd realized.

"Dad," she started, but couldn't finish, couldn't say what she wanted to say with Richard Castle standing over her and probably mentally recording everything she said to be used later in some damn novel. She'd be the helpless victim that Clara Strike and Derrick Storm came to rescue, her own words in the mouth of some ridiculous bimbo in hooker gear.

She couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand him.

She turned to glare at Castle. "Would you-"

"Of course," he said immediately, and her hope flared so brightly, so acutely, that it was nearly painful. And then he continued. "We can share a cab. I'll make sure he gets-"

Her mouth dropped at his audacity. "No."

"No?"

Her father tugged away from her. "I don't need a baby-sitter, Katie. Let me-"

"Katie?" Castle breathed, and his eyes filled with something that hollowed her out.

She turned away from him, blinking hard. "Kate. It's Kate. Dad. I need you to go home; I don't care how you get there, so long as you don't drive."

"I don't have my car keys. You stole them."

"I did," she confirmed._ This morning when I found you crying on the couch, three bottles gone. _She didn't really have the grounds to arrest him, but she'd dumped him in here with the help of Sarge. She hadn't meant for him to stay quite so long, but the vice squad needed her to wear the gear and stand on the corner and damn it - now here was Richard Castle-

_"_Kate," the writer said quietly. But it wasn't a question, it was like he was trying it out. Her name.

_Ignore him._ "Dad."

"Katie. I'm fine. I can take care of myself. My choice." He shook her off and headed for the elevators; she let him leave, her heart like stone in her chest.

A hand at her elbow made her stiffen, but his voice, when it came, was quiet. "You can't change his life for him."

Fuck.

"You need to leave."

And she walked away from him, back up the stairs to Vice, where he couldn't get to her.

* * *

Castle found her unexpectedly in a police cruiser, hands cradling the wheel, eyes narrowed as she stared down the entrance to one of his favorite bars. He slowed to a stop and leaned in the window of her car, passenger side, then watched her head turn to him with a fierce and burning anger.

She was glorious in her righteous indignation. Even more sexy because of that navy uniform, the turtleneck with NYPD at her throat, her hair in a messy and spiky display just past her ears. He could see the holster, the badge shining on the front of her coat, the radio clipped on her shoulder. She was official and on duty and damn hot.

"You lost?" he said, grinning at her. "I can do some finding, if you want."

"Shut up, Castle."

"What're you doing here, Beckett?" He wriggled both eyebrows and tried the door handle of the cruiser.

Ha! Unlocked. He slid in the passenger seat and squirmed, fascinated by the many gadgets, the CB, the - was that like a computer? Or something. "The seat's warm. You have a partner?"

"I hate you," she groaned.

"No partner? Why is the seat-"

"No partner, Castle. My training officer stopped by."

"Oh, are you still a rookie, Beckett? Aw, that's-"

Suddenly she had twisted his arm behind his back, painfully, and her face was a mere inches from his nose. "Shut the hell up. I'm in the middle of something. You need to get out of my car and go home, Castle."

She said his name like a caress. Did she not hear that? Even threatening, she took her time over the syllables-

"You know, your name rhymes with asshole?" she mused, lifting an eyebrow.

He glared back, jerking away from her and freeing his arm - probably only because she let him. But he didn't get out of the squad car; he scanned the street instead, getting it under control. "So original, Beckett. I never heard that one before."

When he looked back at her, something like repentance was in her face, even though it was still hard and carved from granite. "Get out of my unit."

"What're you doing at the Old Haunt? You spying on me, Beckett? Cause you have to know I come here-"

"What?" she said, and the amount of surprise in her voice meant that she hadn't been waiting for him. Darn. "You come here?"

"My favorite bar. I write in one of the booths. They took my picture-"

"You haven't written here in years," she scoffed, giving him a roll of her eyes. "I'd have known."

"Oh really?" he purred, leaning in closer, but unsure where to prop his elbow amid all the gadgets.

She was blushing again - but it was that sickened kind, the kind where she was not just mortified at what she'd let slip, but also nauseated by the thought of him knowing. Not exactly the reaction he was going for.

"How do you know I don't write here anymore?" he murmured, leaning in closer, wondering what she might do if he kissed that flushed jaw, nudged the turtleneck down with his nose, sucked on the hard-pounding of her pulse.

"How do I - I just do." She made a growling noise in the back of her throat that only made him want to touch his tongue to her skin, but the sudden stiffness in her body, the movement of her hand for the door made him pause.

She jumped out, tugging on her holster as she moved swiftly to the sidewalk. He watched through the window, realized that she was more than sexy in that uniform - she was every fantasy he had and some he hadn't even considered - and then he saw who she was intercepting.

Her father had just walked right out of the bar, slow but not imbalanced, and Beckett met him at the sidewalk. In a second, she was putting handcuffs on him and leading him back to her squad car, an open bottle confiscated out of his hands.

Oh shit. Castle had walked in on her _arresting her father._


	3. Chapter 3

**Vice**

* * *

She was pissed at them both. Her father for making her do this again, and Richard_ effing_ Castle for witnessing it.

After everything, she'd wanted to keep as far from him as possible.

"Get in, Dad," she said, and she knew her voice sounded tired. She was tired; she was so tired of it.

What the hell? Who cared about preserving her father's dignity? He had none. She was just surprised he was in a bar this time. She bagged the open beer bottle her father had brought outside with him, tossed it into the backseat. Evidence. She was upping the ante, making it real; she was actually arresting him this time.

"Katie-" he started, his voice low and pleading. Drunk, of course. Always so sad, so remorseful, so tender towards her when he was drunk. Why did he drink when it just made it worse?

"Get in," she said again, her throat closing up.

"You don't need the handcuffs, sweetheart," he murmured, eyes so deep, so trusting. Looking to her to make it right.

This was how she made it right. "I'm arresting you. Handcuffs are part of the procedure." She'd already read him his rights when she bagged the open bottle.

"Are you really arresting your own father?" His voice - not even pathetic, just so very sad. God, it killed her; she wanted to weep.

Kate gritted her teeth and stared him down. "I am," she said to him, keeping it out of her eyes. "For the second time in twenty-four hours. The fourth time this week. Only this time, the charges stick."

"Four?!" squawked the voice from the passenger seat.

She shot Castle a look, and he shut up, thankfully, face forward again. When Beckett glanced back to her father, still on the sidewalk, cuffs slapped on his wrists, she saw that he was breaking apart.

"Dad," she said quickly, trying to forestall his grief. "In the car. Get in the car."

"Katie, oh sweetheart, I am so-"

"Dad." She opened the back door wider, nudged on him, her hand lifting to protect his head as he finally hunched over. She didn't want his apologies. She guided him onto the backseat, shut the door after him, closed her eyes just so she could breathe, just breathe.

Mike, her ex-training officer, would've handled it with her, but she'd sent him away. He'd wanted to go in himself, grab her father, put him on his way. But this was Beckett's last and best hope - scared straight. Nothing else was getting through to him. Royce thought it was a bad idea but-

Royce didn't know. Royce was _retiring_. He didn't get to have a say in this.

She moved around the hood of her squad car and slid behind the wheel. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her father's face behind the wire-mesh of the divider, felt her heart cracking.

"Katie," he moaned, and she knew he was drunk enough now that it would all come spilling out.

And Castle was right here to witness it.

* * *

Rick Castle held his breath. But she still knew he was here. "Get out, Castle."

"But I-"

"Now," she said, and the lack of emotion in her voice, the flat affect and the blank darkness in her eyes - that did it.

He opened the door and got out.

She didn't even look at him as she put her squad car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

* * *

Beckett fought with herself all night.

She paced her apartment, hands pressed to her abdomen as she pushed back nausea. This was the longest she'd put her father in the tank for - and she wasn't going to go get him this time. She wasn't. He'd have to do the mandatory 24 hours for violating open container laws, and he'd have it on his record, and oh God, what was she doing? She was ruining his life-

No.

_No._

Man up, Beckett.

She took a deeper breath and paced to the windows, back to the couch, back to the kitchen, trying to work out the roiling frustration, the sick, sorry need to go rescue her daddy, make it okay again, let him cry with her and promise to be better in the morning.

It wasn't getting better. It wasn't okay; she was losing him, everything he'd been for her. He looked like a nice enough drunk, he smiled and was sappy and kept trying to share stories of Johanna with her. Kate had let it go on so long, just because it made him happy at first. He'd resuscitate her mother's memory, all golden and rosy, and his smile would come out again. But it degraded quickly, fell into a maudlin and terrible sorrow, a snake-eating-its-tail depression that was deep enough to keep the drinks coming but not deep enough to do a damn thing else.

She couldn't do this anymore. He had to stop. She'd managed to figure out how to live this life without her mother - five years into life without - and he had to do the same.

He had to.

Oh God, he had to.

* * *

Twenty-four hours, Beckett. Eight hours to go. Eight.

She filed the last of her paperwork, that surge of sickness burning her throat. Her father wasn't the first arrest she'd made, but it was the most heart-rending. And it was a reminder that everybody had a story - a reason why they'd gotten to the dark place they were in, a series of events that had led them to that point.

This arrest was different, and when she went to file the report, her palms were damp. She'd written in - _open container in public_. New York had no law against public intoxication, but her father had brought his bottle outside with him, just as she'd known he would do the moment Royce went inside.

Her father had sneaked out in a hurry, headed for the front door the moment that Royce walked in the bar, his bottle snug against his side, probably expecting Kate right behind her former training officer.

But Beckett had been waiting outside. Open container in public. So she'd arrested him. She would do whatever it took to open her father's eyes.

Eight hours to go.

She wasn't going to make it. She was going to break and she would go down there, get Sarge to let him out-

"Beckett."

She jerked her head up, felt a tendril of hair escape her bun. The detective was staring at her, hands on his hips, a frown creasing his face. He'd probably heard by now that she'd arrested her father. Royce seemed to be the only one who understood, but ever since she'd been assigned to Vice, her former training officer had kept his distance. Had put in for retirement.

Her throat was tight as Detective DeMarco gave her the once-over.

"You'll do," he said, his voice rough with a lifetime of cigarette smoking.

"For what?" she asked back. "Sir."

"You and Chen are back out on the street today."

_Good._

She needed something to keep her mind off it. Working as a hooker and picking up johns was-

"It's for Burglary, Beckett," DeMarco said with a snarl that he didn't mean; it was just his usual facial expression. "Joint op. Need you and Chen to keep your ears open for a fence."

"Usual corner?" she asked, knitting her brow, reminding herself to look serious. But she was elated. It was a relief to not think about her father, to focus instead on a goal.

"The usual." He glanced at her again. "Get out of the blues, put on the uniform."

She gave him a tight-lipped smile at his already-old joke and headed for the locker room. She'd do anything to work her way quickly through the ranks. She had her goal - she had her life planned out. After her mother's murder, the unsolved case, Kate Beckett had sat down and figured out every step.

Put in her time, prove herself, make detective. She'd ignored the customary, traditional probationary period that most officers were supposed to wait before submitting an application; she knew all it took was one good collar, one big bust, and she'd be in. They'd have to take her; Chief of Detectives would be all over it for the good press too.

So she agreed to every single case, every sting, every operation offered to her.

Because the moment she made that distinction, no matter where they put her - if she stayed in Vice, got shoved over to Burglary, didn't matter - she was a detective and she was investigating her mother's case.

She had three weeks before the hiring applications came around again, and this was her next step. The plan couldn't fail. She'd find her mother's killer.

And she damn well wanted her father around to see it.

* * *

It was seven by the time she hauled her frozen ass back to the 12th. Her fingers were blue, her nose was running, and her shoulders were stiff from tackling a suspect in heels and a skirt that was probably a tubetop in a former life.

DeMarco gave her a healthy pat on the shoulder as they shuffled into Vice. "Good work, Beckett. You gonna submit for detective?"

She sucked in a breath, kept her eyes steady on his. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You should."

He said no more, but stalked off to draw up the paperwork. She stared after him, her heart pounding. It'd been a successful operation; Burglary had fumbled, but that left DeMarco looking more than competent, which he was - he was a by-the-book cop, and when Beckett had chased down the fence, he'd been right behind her, already out of the van.

He'd had her back; it'd been a long ten months since she'd had that feeling, that certainty, ever since Royce had distanced himself from her. Put in for retirement. It still rankled.

"Beckett."

She spun on her heel, still standing stupidly in front of the locker rooms, and found the Captain of the 12th watching her.

"Sir," she said, swallowing that instinctive flicker of _What did I do now?_ He'd been the one who found her down in Archives two years ago, yanked her out of that dark hole she'd been heading to. He'd been the one to make her see - make her understand.

She had to make detective before she could go after her mother's case.

Make detective. Stick to the plan. It couldn't fail.

"I heard about your op with Burglary."

"Yes, sir."

"You got good instincts, Beckett."

"Thank you, sir." She kept her eyes on him, dead on, because she knew he respected those who showed a little backbone.

And he liked her; she knew he did.

"How's your dad, Beckett?"

Shit.

Her mouth dropped open, her hands clenching into fists. "I - I arrested him yesterday. I was supposed to get-"

The Captain - Montgomery - he sighed and crossed his arms. "I know. You were doing your job, Beckett. I'm sure he'll understand. Look, why don't you and Jim come over for dinner next weekend. Evelyn's going to make that potato salad you love."

She cast a quick look down the hall, but no one was around to witness the Captain's fatherly concern for her. She didn't know where she'd be if Montgomery hadn't forced his way into her life.

"Okay," she said finally. "Thank you, sir."

He reached out and shook her hand. "Good job, today. You saved Burglary's ass - looks good in the interviews for detective. Now go break your old man out of prison."

Beckett sighed, let a fleeting, tight smile pass her lips. Just for him. "Yes sir."

* * *

When Beckett was back in street clothes - not street-walker clothes - she headed down for the Zoo and the desk sergeant on duty. It was Harkins again, and she gave him a half-smile as she stepped up, third in line behind a couple of beat cops. She bided her time and when she got to Sarge, he was already shaking his head.

"Dad's 24 were up about three hours ago, Beckett."

"I know. I-"

"He's gone."

"He's what?" she said, rocking back on her heels.

"Got out. Guy here for him."

A guy-

"What?" she hissed.

But Sarge was already pulling out a manilla envelope, handing it over. In black Sharpie, her father's name was written across the top, a sticker with his corresponding file number just under it. She took the envelope, frowning at Sarge.

"What's this?"

"He left his personals."

Shit. "Who came to pick him up?" she groused, then glanced at the flap and realized that it was already open. "Who opened-"

"Your dad did. And the guy - I don't know, Beckett. Oh. He might've been that guy you had in here the day before."

The guy she-

_Richard Castle?_

Her heart had stopped at the name, but her father's personal effects tumbled out into her hand. His watch. A note.

Her eyes burned and she clutched the watch to her chest, opened the note written in her father's hand.

_katie, you always know when it's time to do the right thing. it's my time now. so this is for you. love, dad_


	4. Chapter 4

**Vice**

* * *

She called the publishing company again, got a different person.

"My name is Kate Beckett," she started, interrupting the woman's friendly greeting with her tense, memorized speech. "I'm a police officer with the NYPD. I need to get in touch with Richard Castle."

"Let me give you Mr. Castle's publicist-"

"No. I need his address or home phone. Not his publicist."

"I'm sorry, Officer. I can't disclose that information."

"Mr. Castle-"

"I'm sorry," the woman repeated. "Do you have a search warrant?"

She bit her bottom lip with a growl and scraped a hand through her short hair. "No. This isn't - fine, give me his publicist's number."

She didn't even need to jot the number down - it was the same she'd been given an hour ago when she had first talked to someone at Black Pawn. They were a wall around him; she couldn't get through.

She ended the call and shoved her phone back into her pocket, pushed out of her father's chair. His place was deserted. She had no idea where he was. She felt like she was going to throw up, but it was a familiar feeling.

Two months ago, her father had disappeared for three days. Royce had found him at a cabin in the woods, a place her father had bought without telling her, spur of the moment, probably drunk. He'd been holed up with the good whiskey, two weeks before her mother's birthday.

She gave in and called Royce. She needed help; she had no idea how to get in touch with Castle - what the _hell_ had Castle said? done? - and she needed help.

Oh God, she needed help. Where was her father?

* * *

Royce didn't answer, didn't answer, didn't answer.

Beckett pressed her fist into her eye, pushed until she saw stars, and growled. Time to regroup. Make a plan.

_You are on your own, Beckett._

As she had been for the last five years.

She needed a strategy; there were places in the city she could search for her father. She had to report on duty in the morning, and she couldn't make it upstate to the cabin and back in time. He didn't usually do bars, but there were a few he might have headed for; she could hit up every single on of them.

As soon as Royce called her back-

Who was she kidding? Royce had stopped taking her calls.

Yesterday's help was a one-off; she'd tracked him down at his squad car with his new partner and she'd forced him to help her. One last time, she'd told him, before you go. _Retirement._ He was retiring. She just-

Ever since she'd told him _I think we might have something-_ and then hadn't even gotten a chance to say _what_ they might have, ever since that night, Royce had been moving further and further away.

Unhooking her claws. Wasn't that how one of the uniforms had put it? She'd overheard the remark as she was changing for a Vice assignment. _Now that Beckett's unhooked her claws-_

Yeah.

Not helping.

First thing she needed to do was go home, make a base of operations, and then find her father.

It was just detective work.

Prove you can do it, Beckett.

* * *

Rick Castle rolled his head on his shoulders and winced as he unlocked his door; it'd been a long drive.

Alexis shrieked from the living room, but it wasn't an extreme joy over seeing him finally home. Instead, she shrieked again, giggling, and darted towards the kitchen. Away from-

"Gina?" He stared at his publisher and then at his daughter. "Alexis. Where's your grandmother?"

Alexis's face fell, and he cursed himself for his tone. He was just surprised, and really, Gina?

"Gram had - she had a date, and you ran later than you said-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Are you guys - good?" he asked, glancing now to Gina.

She gave him a brief nod, but her smile was flickering back to life. She slipped her shoes back on, stepped closer to him. "Sorry, Rick. I should've called and told you I was subbing in for your mother."

No. His _mother_ should have told him she was handing over the duties. But he couldn't be picky about it. Gina was a good person, responsible. A harpy at times, but-

"Oh, and Rick? I'm not sure what you've done now, but a cop keeps calling our offices-"

"A cop?" he asked, jerking his head towards her, breath catching. "Was it Beckett? Did she-"

Gina had that look on her face he hated to see - calculated interest with a touch of suspicion. He'd been too eager. She hated it when he started to drift; she was the one with the reins, yanking him back into line.

"It's important, Gina. It's about her father," he said, hoping the sudden information would throw her off whatever her game was.

"Her father?"

"Did she leave a message? A phone number?" He had nothing; her address was unlisted. Protected probably because she was a cop. It was frustrating to come up against so many obstacles.

"No. But my assistant gave her your publicist's-"

"Paula," he breathed, clutching his hand into a fist. "Thanks, Gina. I'm sure you've got work to do. I appreciate you taking time off to look after Alexis." He opened the front door and handed her the purse and scarf she'd left on his entry table, searched for her coat.

She stared at him a moment and then pressed her lips together, shook her head at him. He opened the coat closet, pulled down her black, lined trench and held it up for her. Gina slid her arms gracefully inside and left him without a backward glance or even a good-bye to his daughter.

Okay, so he'd been rude, but he didn't care.

He had to find Beckett, get in touch with her.

* * *

_Unknown._

Her heart pounded, she'd just gotten home, and Beckett answered too quickly, choking on her own name.

"Uh - Beckett? Kate, it's-"

"Castle," she breathed out and sank to her kitchen chair with a hand over her eyes. "Where's my father? What did you do-"

"I didn't do anything. He went to rehab."

She couldn't breathe.

It wouldn't come.

She couldn't-

"Beckett? Beckett. Come on. Answer me. I-"

"He what?" She pressed her forehead to the wooden grain of her kitchen table and kept her eyes tightly shut, the phone her only lifeline.

"I offered to give him a ride. I - actually - Kate, it's a long story and-"

"Tell me."

"Let me meet you. We'll get dinner. You need to hear it face to face."

"I can't be - I won't be able to - not in public."

"Come over to my place." He said it quietly, his voice a ribbon, and she could finally take a breath.

"Okay," she said, her tone matching his, her eyes sliding open to meet the darkness. "Okay."

* * *

He couldn't get his mother to take Alexis, and now he didn't know what to do. He wasn't thrilled about his daughter being here for whatever this was, or would be, this intense conversation he had to have with Beckett.

"Dad," she said, slipping into his arms on the couch. He cuddled her a moment, then kissed both her cheeks until she wrinkled her nose and squirmed. "I'm being serious. I don't mind."

"I know you don't, pumpkin. But you're going to be bored with the adults."

"I like adults. You know I like adults better than kids my age. Plus, you said Beckett is a policeman."

"Woman. Officer." Was there a better word?

"Yeah, that." Alexis wriggled in his arms until she was loose and then she jumped up. "I can help you with dinner."

"Alexis, it's already made. Just spaghetti."

"Oh." She stopped in the kitchen; he could see her head slowly scanning his preparations. "What about bread? I can sprinkle on the garlic salt and the parmesan."

"Already made, pumpkin." He stood up and followed her into the kitchen, frowning at her. "What's with you?"

"Let me help." She turned to look at him, shrugging. "I can be a help, Dad."

"You are huge help. You don't have to-"

"But I want to eat dinner with you and Beckett."

Ah, shit. Shit. She was just too - too hungry for it. He'd hoped his mother would stick around a little more, be Alexis's female role model, but his mother was - his mother. And nothing could hold her back.

"It's not a date, Alexis." Rick leaned his elbows on the counter between them so that he was even with her eyes. "She's not my girlfriend."

Alexis blushed and averted her eyes, nudging her toe into the bottom cabinet. "I know."

"I don't think you do."

"I _know_, Dad." That petulant, teenager-y sound in her voice.

"Let me call Gram again and maybe she can take you with her-"

"I want to stay here with you," Alexis said quickly, that flash of panic in her eyes.

He swallowed hard and stood up, drawing his arm around his daughter, crushing her into his side. "Okay. Okay, Alexis. Of course you can stay here with me."

Maybe she wasn't trying to hook him up with Beckett, maybe she was just trying to keep hold of her place in his life.

He hunched over to kiss to the top of her head, surprised at how much taller she'd gotten recently. "You can always stay here with me, pumpkin. Got it? Always."

Her arms came up around him, hugged him back tightly.

* * *

When Beckett's knock came to the door, Alexis let the plate she was putting out clatter to the table as she darted towards the entry. He was too slow and his daughter had the door wrenched open before he even made it to her side.

"Hi!"

He saw Beckett's mouth snap shut and was perversely grateful that Alexis had answered with her usual undeniable charm. Beckett had been about to let him have it, and his daughter's cheerfulness had stalled her out.

Awesome.

"Hey, Beckett. Kate. Come on in," he said, widening the door's opening with a push. Alexis came with it, hanging on the knob, riding it all the way back.

Beckett glanced from his daughter to him, questions in her eyes. "Are we - is this - this is just informational. Castle. Right?"

He grinned. "Why? You want it to be more than informational?"

"No," she snapped, but again checked herself in the face of his daughter's beaming happiness. Yeah, he totally liked this. His daughter was an awesome wing man. How had he not ever thought of this before? Who would say no to that adorable grin?

Beckett glanced down to Alexis, stuck out her hand with a look like she was resigned to jumping right in. "I'm Kate. You're-?"

"I'm Alexis," she said with a puff of her chest, still grinning. "You can sit by me."

"Ah-" Castle laid his hand on his daughter's shoulder, suddenly remembering why she sucked as a wing man. She was entirely too vulnerable. Her tender, baby heart-

"Sure. Where are you sitting?" Kate asked, stepping past both of them into the living room. "Wow. Nice place." She turned back around to Castle, eyes widening slightly, eyebrow raised.

"Thanks," he said, shrugging that off. It was almost like _It's so much bigger on the inside_. And while that was always funny on Dr Who, when it came to his real life, it sucked.

This was his home. Not-

He should've insisted his mother come get her. Even Gina-

No, that would be entirely the wrong message to his publisher. But his daughter shouldn't be here for this - for whatever this was - for this woman who was ten years younger than him and a cop and in the middle of some serious personal crisis-

"I dropped your Dad off," he said suddenly, blurting it out with his daughter standing between them like a shield. "He was embarrassed, I think, but he wanted help. And there's a place I know, so I took him."

Beckett's shoulders sank in relief.

And that's why he'd said it. Because here was his daughter, Alexis, eager for him, concerned about him, even worried over her own place in his life and how it might change, and Beckett was a daughter too, with that same eagerness and concern.

"A place you know," she repeated and put her hand to her forehead.

"Discreet. I promise. No one will know that I-"

She let out a strangled noise and her eyes flew to his, hand dropping. "You paid for it. Oh my God, you _paid_ for my father's rehab?"

"Your Dad's in rehab?" Alexis asked.

Her eyes cut to his daughter, then back to him for help. He nodded towards Alexis, giving his permission, and Beckett's mouth thinned, a grimace at him for putting her in that position.

So what? She said it. It wasn't like his daughter didn't know what rehab was. She was ten. All her favorite bands had at least one member in rehab somewhere, not to mention her own family's - issues.

"Castle," Beckett hissed.

"Your father, not mine," he said, waving his hand. "Tell as much as you feel comfortable."

Beckett sank to the arm of the couch and put her head in her hands, scrubbing down her face, and then she lifted a weary look to his daughter.

"Apparently, Alexis, he is. In rehab." She swallowed hard and he saw the tears she was struggling against.

So did Alexis. She leaped towards Beckett and wrapped her thin arms around the woman, face pressed against Kate's cheek, her eyes squeezed shut.

Or so he assumed. He'd been on the receiving end of enough of his daughter's comfort-hugs to know - she could squeeze the life out of him.

And that seemed to be the last straw for the tears Beckett was trying so hard to keep back. They slipped down her cheeks quietly, without a sound, and it cracked his chest to witness it.

"Okay," he said quickly, coming forward to untangle his daughter from the cop. "Let's get dinner served, pumpkin, put it on plates for all three of us. Kate, when you're ready-"

"You can sit by me," Alexis said from the protection of his arm but with both of her hands cradling one of Kate's. "Dad is funny. He can make me laugh when I'm the saddest. And Dad says I tell good stories."

Beckett lifted her gaze to him, and already he could see that quirk of her mouth that had so captivated him that first moment he laid eyes on her. She eased her hand out from between his daughter's clasping ones, and then she stood.

"I can serve myself," she said. "But I'm interested in your stories, Alexis. So lead the way."


	5. Chapter 5

**Vice**

* * *

It wasn't fair to ambush her with a ten year old. Beckett remembered being ten. Fifth grade. She'd had a boyfriend who was really just a classmate she'd teased mercilessly for being so skinny - until he'd slipped her a note during art class, asking her if she'd be his girlfriend. That was being ten years old.

And here was Richard Castle's daughter, sitting slouched in her chair beside Kate, slurping her spaghetti noodles and giggling whenever her father caught her at it. She had crumbs of parmesan and toast down her shirt that she kept swiping away, and whenever she turned to Kate, it was another question about being a cop.

Like this one - "Did you ever kill someone?"

She gave Castle a sharp look but he didn't seem to mind if she answered. But Beckett minded. She minded a lot. "That's a personal question."

"It is?" Alexis said, drawing her brows together. "How is it personal?"

"Because it would involve another person. And me. _Per_sonal."

Castle shot her a look back for that answer, but she thought maybe there was pride on his face. Pride in _her_. Beckett.

So she asked. "What?"

"Nice pun. Clever. Alexis, if Beckett says it's personal, then skip it."

"I'm skipping it," Alexis affirmed. "What about shooting? You shot someone?"

"What happened to skipping it?" Were all the Castles so nosy? Was it a genetic thing?

"That was a different question," Alexis says, her pert nose nudging up as she grinned at Kate. "But okay. Skipping that one too. What about. . .do you get to drive fast?"

Beckett rolled her eyes and looked again at the girl's father. "She is _so_ your kid."

"I am his kid!" Alexis laughed, not quite getting it. "Do you drive fast with the sirens?"

"I do," she answered, finally glad to have an appropriate question. "I run the sirens and I drive fast, but in this city, I still have to be really careful. And sometimes, when my siren and lights are on, I still creep."

"People don't get out of your way?" Alexis gasped, dropping her fork to her plate.

"Sometimes they don't."

"Whoa. That's illegal. Right? Can you arrest them?"

"If I stopped to arrest them, then the emergency would be over, and I'd have missed my most important job."

"Oh." Alexis seemed momentarily satisfied and Beckett turned back to Castle, knowing that she was close to pleading with him for information.

"Castle," she said, reminding him.

He seemed to shake himself out of it but his grin was electric when he looked at her - crinkled eyes, dimple in his chin, still scruffy but with a kind of man-at-home look instead of red-light-district as she'd first thought.

Still sexy though.

Beckett swallowed and forced her mind back to it. "My dad. What happened?" She glanced once more to Alexis. "If you can tell me."

"If you don't mind the hearing of it."

She shook her head. A ten year old? What did it matter if Alexis knew her dirty laundry?

"I came to the precinct looking for you."

Oh.

Wait. Richard Castle had come looking for her?

"And I didn't know where your desk might be - if you even have one?"

She shook her head _no_ to that.

"So I stopped by the main desk first. Sarge - that's what you called him - was just releasing your father. He recognized me."

Ohhh...not good. That couldn't be good.

"What did he say to you?"

"He thought you'd sent me in your place."

He thought-

"What?"

"That's what he said. _She sent you instead?_ And I told him that wasn't the case, but it seemed to hit him hard."

"I left him there," she said, clearing her throat to keep it from cracking. "I usually let him stay a few hours, then go get him. But I didn't this time. I left him there. And I meant to be there - I just - I was working. I had to work-"

"I know," Castle said, quietly. Even Alexis was quiet, watching her.

"I didn't know what else to do." She swallowed and laid her fork on her plate, studying the sloppy pattern of her spaghetti noodles, the red stain of the sauce. Homemade. He'd put real tomatoes in it, and basil he was growing on the ledge of his dining room window. Alexis had shown it to her, made her bend down to smell its pungent leaves.

"He asked me if I'd seen you. I said I hadn't. And then he - broke."

She pressed both hands to her eyes, escaped the too-knowing look of the man who sat before her, the eager compassion of the ten year old.

"He left me a note," she said finally, and slipped two fingers into her jeans pocket, pulled it out. She'd folded it, a hundred times, as much as she could, and she watched Castle open it slowly, going through each fold with ceremony.

Beside her, Alexis shifted in her seat. "Can I have ice cream?"

"In a minute," her father murmured, reading the note.

"Does it - make any sense to you-?" She needed to know. Needed answers.

"Oh, he said it was time. That's what he said to me. _It's time I fixed this. _He wrote this, I didn't know what it said, put it back in the envelope with his stuff. He asked me if I knew a place. So I drove him to the-" Here he stopped, stumbled with it, his eyes tracking to his daughter's face.

Why his-

Oh. Oh, wow, really? Who in his family, their family, had been to this same place?

"Thank you," she said, hearing the rattle in her own voice and not even caring. "Thank you."

"You're wearing his watch," he said in return.

She glanced down to where she'd unthinkingly pulled back the sleeves of her sweater in the warmth of his loft. "Yeah. For - for him. So he'll make it."

"He'll make it," Castle said.

She darted her eyes to his and read there all the hope, the certainty, and the understanding she'd always found in his words.

* * *

Beckett scooped out the mocha chip ice cream while Castle pulled toppings from around his kitchen. He watched her out of the corner of his eye; she looked uncomfortable but sticking with it. Alexis sat perched on a bar stool, so he reached over and pretended to squirt whipped cream in her face.

She ducked, and he laughed.

"This enough?" Beckett asked, tilting the bowl.

"More," Castle said, sighing at her. "Way more. Come on, Beckett. It's ice cream."

"More!" Alexis crowed, grinning. "Actually, that's enough for me."

"Alexis," Castle huffed.

"Then that's enough," Beckett said, shooting him a look. He couldn't interpret that one either, so he ignored it and popped open the jar of maraschino cherries.

"How many, pumpkin?"

"All of them."

"Not possible. Gotta leave some for our guest," he said, nudging her shoulder with his. "Also, I need at least three. No, four. No! Five. At least five."

"Why don't you and Beckett dish yours out first then? I can have what's left."

"Ooh, thinking. What a clever girl I've got. Sure. We'll do that."

"Okay, here's your ice cream," Beckett interrupted, handing over two bowls. They clattered down in front of them, and he turned his eyes on her, surprised. She scraped a hand through her short hair and tugged. "Sorry. I-"

"No, I'm sorry," he said first. "You probably want to go see your dad. I should've realized that."

"I just-"

"You're right. I wasn't thinking. Alexis, up for a road trip?"

"Yay!"

"Wait. No-"

"Pile on the toppings, jumping bean, and we'll take it to go."

"To go?" Beckett hissed. "No. Look. Just tell me where it is, and I can-"

"You have a car, Beckett?"

She stared at him.

"I didn't think so. And your dad didn't leave his keys, not that I could tell. So you're stuck with us."

"Stuck with us," Alexis added with a brisk nod of her head. "We're not too bad though. You'll like us. I can be quiet."

Beckett's face broke as she glanced down to his daughter; he could see her reserve was still in place, but her aggressive resistance had faded to nothing.

Score another one for Alexis.

"Beckett, you want your ice cream to go, or-"

"No. I'm - let's sit down and eat our dessert. I'm sorry. I'm being rude." She reached for the bottle of chocolate sauce, and he could see the blanched tips of her fingers. "And Alexis, I already like you. Quiet or chatty, either way is pretty great."

Oh, damn it. Worked both ways, didn't it? His daughter could charm her way past Beckett's defenses, but on the flip side, it looked like Beckett could charm his daughter past his defenses too.

Castle picked up his bowl of ice cream and held it to his chest, trying not to stare at the sexy vice cop who had just single-handedly reassured his daughter.

* * *

She was silent in the passenger seat, but his kid kept up a steady stream of conversation that he had to respond to. Alexis wasn't a talkative person, so he figured it was to keep things going, and he appreciated her compassionate insight.

"Dad, do they let you visit? I thought you said they don't let you visit?"

"Restricted visits," Castle answered.

"You wouldn't let me visit Mom."

Ohhh...shit.

Kate shifted in her seat and he gave her a swift glance, pleading for silence. He had to think. There had to be an answer that-

"Alexis."

_No. _It wasn't her place. What-

"Sometimes it's better not to see our parents in middle of their pain. Because we're their daughters, they get to protect us from that. We never have to see how far they've fallen."

Oh.

"Oh," Alexis echoed his thoughts perfectly. He glanced in rear view mirror, his heart pounding, and his daughter was staring out the window. He didn't think she meant to get an actual answer to her question; she was just putting him on the spot, like she loved to do.

"Alexis-" he started, but Beckett suddenly reached over and squeezed his forearm resting on the gearshift. He shot her a startled look, but her face seemed to say _Trust me._

Silence reigned over the backseat and Castle grew increasingly anxious. He kept casting his eyes to his daughter's still form behind him, but Beckett didn't let go of his arm.

How did she know that this was-

"Dad."

"Yeah?" he asked, breathless with it.

"Is that why you didn't let me visit Mom?"

"How old were you, Alexis?" he reminded her softly.

"I don't know. I've just always been with you."

Beckett's hand squeezed and he sucked in a long breath. "You were about four or five, pumpkin."

"Oh."

"Do you remember Mom being there?"

"No. Not being there instead of here. She's always somewhere else instead of here. It wasn't any different."

He wanted to pull the car over and kick Beckett out and hug his kid, the two of them alone, but here he was on the interstate, driving a cop up to see her father in rehab and trying not to let all this past history swallow him whole.

And then Alexis spoke up again. "Why's your dad in rehab, Kate?"

Castle jerked a glance to Beckett again, felt his wild-beating heart begin to thrash again. "You don't have to answer that," he murmured, but she was already half-twisting in her seat to look at his daughter.

"Because he drinks instead of grieves."

"What's that mean?"

Beckett was silent for so long that Castle actually looked away from the interstate to see her, her eyes closed, face like stone. And then she opened her eyes and gave her answer.

"My mother was mur - is dead. And he's trying to follow her."


	6. Chapter 6

**Vice**

* * *

Rick Castle watched his daughter in the rearview mirror for the next fifteen miles, but she wasn't disturbed by Beckett's inelegant personal revelation.

When they'd left, Alexis had apparently snatched the ipod from where he'd left it charging on the entry table and taken it with them. She had scrounged the headphones from her Discman and was now using them to listen to whatever crap he'd managed to upload on the computer from his extensive CD collection. He didn't mind her listening; he just hoped she skipped those Beastie Boys albums.

Beckett's talk about her father following the path to death, about needing rehab - none of that seemed to faze his kid. So far. She'd heard a lot, living in the Castle house, having his mother for her grandmother, his poker buddies as her uncles. But it didn't mean he thought she wasn't affected by this.

He'd get questions from her tonight. Questions he wouldn't know how to answer. "When she starts in on this while I'm trying to tuck her in tonight? Beckett, I'm calling you. Let _you_ handle it."

"She's a mature kid," Beckett said softly in response, and he realized her hand was still over his. Not stroking, not squeezing, just there. Present. Her fingers were curled at the web of his thumb, resting, and the touch was both intimate and entirely impersonal at the same time.

Like she'd perfected the art of comforting. Like she was a professional at it.

"You're trying to make detective," he said suddenly. All of it coming clear to him.

_My mother was mur-_

Murdered. Her mother had been murdered.

"You're shooting for Homicide, aren't you?"

"I don't care where they put me," she said heatedly. All that latent anger in her, that quickness to fierce and protective fire. "So long as I make detective. The moment that happens, I'm opening her case."

Murdered. Her mother had been murdered. And she wanted a crack at the case.

"Have you seen it?" he said quietly, modulating his voice so that he might somehow communicate all his horror, and all his admiration for her strength.

"Seen it?" she said, her voice a choked thing.

"The case. Have you-"

"I broke into Archives the moment I got my blues."

"So you have," he said, nudging the gas pedal with his foot to keep them in the flow of traffic. "You looked at the evidence. The - the coroner's report?"

"Yes." Her voice was hard, and with a razor's edge to it that meant she'd also seen the medical examiner's photos. The forensics team's photos. The actual body. Shit. The body.

"How did it happen?" he asked, because he couldn't help but ask. She had a story; he'd seen a willingness to overcome tragedy in her eyes that couldn't be explained by determination alone. She'd had to. For her father? For herself. For her mother's memory.

"She was stabbed in an alley in Washington Heights. Behind a bar. She was supposed to be meeting us for dinner, but instead she was in an alley behind a bar."

"Mugg-"

"No. She had her purse, wallet, keys. She even had the family cell phone."

"Bad section of town. Maybe gang-"

"That's what the detectives assigned to her case said as well."

He stopped talking, heard the warning in the way her voice cracked as she spoke, saw it too in the stiffness of her body held rigidly away from the seat.

Beckett took her hand away from his, folded it into her lap, placed her other hand on top as if arranging her self precisely. Carefully. So she wouldn't break apart.

"Your father didn't say much on the same drive up," he began. "But he did say some."

"Oh God," she moaned.

He shot her a swift look and realized she'd been trying for blasé and smirking, but she was failing. She was truly afraid of what her father might have confessed to him.

"He talked about you," Castle admitted.

"He talks too much."

"He loves you."

"Piss-poor job of showing it lately."

"I'm sure," Castle agreed, but then again. "Except for what he did today. The decision he made."

"Finally," she croaked out and he couldn't help but think she was battling back tears. He actually felt badly that he was the one to witness it, knowing what he knew now. About Kate Beckett and his books. He was so curious - he wanted to know from her own lips - but this was first.

"He's choosing life again, Kate," Rick said, wishing she'd move her hand, even if to the seat, even if not close to his - just so he could reach over and take it. As it was, buried in her lap, he couldn't. He thought she might need it.

Her teeth chewed on her lower lip. "So he says. He's told me he's quitting before."

"Has he gone to rehab before?"

"No. And you still haven't told me _where_, Castle."

"New place. Called The Dunes. In East Hampton," he admitted, waiting for it.

"In East Hampton?" she breathed. "Holy shit. Castle. That's - that's got to be thousands of dollars."

He ignored that. "It's a mandatory 90 day stay. And then after that, optional 30 days. They charge per day."

"I can't afford that," she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, then to cover her eyes as she groaned. "My dad can't either. We have some family money, Castle, and I've been saving - I expected to have to - for it to come to this-"

"You're not paying me back," he said.

"The hell I'm not-"

"Lower your voice, Beckett."

She growled and pressed her fists into her eyes, but he ignored that too. Change of subject. He wasn't going to let her think about it too long.

"Your father told me you've read my books."

"Yeah? He also pull out the family album and show off my naked baby pictures?"

"We didn't get to those," Castle grinned. "But I'll be sure and hunt for family albums the minute-"

"Castle," she groaned. "You can't pay for this. You can't - can't barge through my family's life like this. It's not yours. You-"

"I didn't barge in," he said hotly. "You _arrested_ me."

"For trying to pay me for se-"

"Directions!"

"The charges were dropped," she grumbled.

"Only because I know a guy," he muttered.

"No, Castle, because it's not illegal, you idiot."

He jerked a look in her direction, opened his mouth, shut it. "You arrested me for - nothing?"

"Taught you a lesson. You can't give money to-"

"I knew you were a cop. It's not like I actually _thought _you were a hooker. Too classy."

She was rolling her eyes. He didn't even have to look. "Well, thanks?"

He grinned. "Face it. You did this to yourself."

"I did not. I was doing my job."

"You are smoking hot at doing your job, too."

"Castle."

He risked a grin at her, felt his heart pound at the way she couldn't hold back the amusement from her face. No smile, not yet anyway, but her eyes had lost that flinty resolve and had sparked into fire again.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

Tit for tat.

"Her mom was in rehab?" Beckett asked.

When he looked at her, he couldn't hide it. Beckett bit the inside of her cheek and wished she hadn't asked. It was too-

"When she was five."

That wasn't new information. (Though she'd never seen it in the papers or the tabloids; they'd done a good job keeping it quiet.)

"And yeah, she still drinks. Maybe too much, but I had to figure out pretty quickly that I wasn't responsible for her. Can't be. I don't have control over how much Meredith drinks. All I can do is control how much I let it affect my daughter."

She could hear the _lesson_ he was trying to teach her in his statement, but she wasn't listening. "Meredith's your ex. Not your father."

"She's my ex because I had the choice. You don't. Father is always your father."

"Yeah," she huffed, rubbing at her eyebrow. "Can't really divorce my dad. Only family I have left."

She heard his sucked in breath, the way the tension between them went up a notch. She didn't care; she was suddenly so tired of being careful, keeping it behind closed doors. Her father had already opened the door, hadn't he? What did it matter now?

"It sucks. It sucks that he doesn't care enough to care. I lost my mom and I lost my dad in the same day. Only, at least I got to bury her. Dad? He just haunts me."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

The silence then wasn't even bad. She'd expected awkward, but it was easier than she thought.

He sighed. "This is a good step, Beckett."

"Yeah. Believe it when I see it."

"That's why I'm driving you up here," he said. "So you can see it."

She shrugged. Honestly, when she'd gotten her father's note, her immediate reaction was a terrible certainty that he'd finally do it - kill himself. Not _save_ himself. She'd felt it coming all year - why she'd been arresting him every time, taking him to the drunk tank even if she didn't _have_ a reason to arrest him. Sarge filed the paperwork slowly, so that her father had always gotten a couple hours, a night even, to sober up.

To think about the choices he'd made.

But-

"Look," Castle started, and she was surprised to find him there. Not that she'd forgotten she was in a car, but somehow she really had forgotten it was Richard Castle driving her up to some snazzy place in East Hampton-

"Castle-"

"Listen to me for a second. You gave advice to my daughter and I let you-"

She sighed, pressed her fingers to her eyebrows to relieve the tension headache forming behind her eyes. She'd opened her mouth and now- "Sorry. Not my place."

"You know why I did though?" he continued. "Because you're right. You know what it means to be the daughter of a parent who's made some mistakes. But there's something you don't know. What it is to be a parent."

She drew in a long breath and tried not to instantly _hate_ him for it, the calm or the certainty in his voice or the way he thought he knew everything about her.

"He's your father, Beckett. He can do it. You have to believe that."

She didn't say anything to that. She didn't have to believe. Either her father straightened out his life, or he didn't. She was so fucking tired of witnessing it. And now she was mortified that Richard Castle had witnessed it too. Richard Castle.

"I'm sorry you're stuck in the middle of this," she said finally. "I never meant-"

"It's no problem. You're worth it."

What?

She shot him a look, ripped out of herself by his words, but she could see the stain of pink on his neck, the flush of embarrassment that made his eyes somehow so blue, even with darkness just outside the window.

"I'm worth it?" she repeated, now with some interest, if only to mess with him. Make him as uncomfortable as she was about this drive, restore the balance of power. "You thinking you're gonna be. . .rewarded, Rick?"

He choked, the car swerved, and she laughed.

"_That_ was worth it," she murmured.

"You are cruel."

* * *

"I have to pee."

Castle glanced in the rearview mirror and saw his daughter pulling the headphones off her ears.

"Dad. Now."

"You should've told me before it became immediate, Alexis."

"I'm telling you now, Dad. I really have to pee."

"Castle - right here. Gas station at this exit."

He snorted. "Gas station. Hell no. The men's is nasty and-"

"I can go in with her. Exit. Now, Castle-"

He did, caved to the force of her command, exiting the interstate for the lone Shell with its dilapidated convenience store.

"This looks sketchy," he muttered, but took the left-hand turn towards the gas station.

"Don't worry. I'll protect you," she hummed, laughter at the back of her throat. It made his body turn inside out, just like that, just her voice.

"Just protect my little girl. Ug. Gas station bathroom? Really? The men's is atrocious, I can already tell. And the women's-"

"How would you know? It could be an oasis of-"

"I have been in my share of women's gas station bathrooms."

"Gross."

"Not for _that._" He paused. "Okay, once for that - _and_ it didn't happen because it was riddled with flies. But mostly for her," he shot back, glancing again into the rearview mirror at his daughter. She was wriggling around in her seatbelt, trying to hold it.

"Dad. I really - I'm gonna bust."

"We're nearly there, pumpkin."

"I can't wait. Daddy, I can't wait-"

He gunned it, fishtailing into the parking space, and was relieved to see that Beckett was already opening her door and hopping out.

"Go with Beckett."

"Oh thank you," his daughter moaned, sprinting from the car with Beckett at her heels.

He turned off the engine, watching the two of them, and then got out of the car as well, slowly, feeling like he was both entirely too old for this woman and entirely not old enough.

Castle locked the doors, despite how deserted it was, and put his hands on his hips, tried to strangle his emotions. He was always diving headlong into these kinds of relationships without looking first - just drowning in one shallow pool after another.

But he wanted her. Intensely. Everything - her stories, her body, her past, her laughter, her now.

Still. Kate Beckett was no shallow pool.

* * *

"Don't gag," Beckett warned, tugging the key from the knob of the bathroom.

"I have a strong stomach," Alexis said back, following her into the cramped space. One toilet. No stall. Beckett had gotten the key from the attendant after promising to purchase something, and then raced back outside to hustle the girl into the bathroom.

"Um."

Alexis hadn't even paused; she was already yanking her jeans down and squatting over the seat.

"Whoa. Don't sit-" Beckett warned, then averted her eyes. Jeez. Alexis was ten years old. No shame.

"I'm not sitting. It's gross. I wouldn't put my butt on this seat if you _paid_ me."

Beckett couldn't help letting her lips press together in a smile. "Got it. Just. Um. I'll be outside?"

"No! Don't leave me in here. It's so gross. What if one of those flies lands on me? What if lose my balance and fall in-"

"Okay. Yeah. No. You're right. I definitely shouldn't leave you alone in here. Who knows what might befall you?"

Alexis laughed at that, a mature laugh, not the girly giggle she pulled out for her father's jokes. "You sound like Dad."

"I do?"

"Befall. He uses words like that. No one else says those."

"Good point. Maybe he's rubbing off on me." Beckett winced and then remembered that Castle wasn't here to make a comment. She was surprised again by the switch in Alexis when she was away from her father - less baby, more pre-teen. Ten years old living with her single father; no wonder the girl acted older than her years in one instant and then in the very next breath seemed to be all adoring eyes and cutesy smiles.

Alexis was already finishing up, yanking on her jeans, but she paused so long that Beckett turned her head to find out what was the matter. "Alexis?"

"I don't want to touch it to flush it."

"Oh. Easy fix. Watch." Beckett lifted her tennis-shoe clad foot to the handle and pushed; the toilet flushed and Alexis laughed again, a little more happy sounding, definitely more relieved.

"Cool trick," Alexis said, then bellied up to the sink to wash her hands.

Beckett stepped on the leash of white toilet paper stuck to the girl's shoe, waited until Alexis moved for the door. It came free and Beckett followed her back outside.

* * *

The lights from the gas station's pumps flickered and whined as they stood at the hood of the car. Castle had bought bottles of water and trail mix, but Beckett refused both. He offered to get her something else and she shook her head.

Alexis was her sweet self again, if a little unladylike as she picked raisins from the back of her teeth and talked excitedly to him about her bathroom adventure. His mother, if she would spend more time with them, might be able to break Alexis of her bad habits, but he sure couldn't.

He didn't see the point, to be honest. She didn't pick her teeth in public, nor did she burp and fart in restaurants or crowded book signings - only at home. With family.

And. Now Beckett.

He could see Beckett's face when Alexis burped and laughed, and he wondered what she thought. Typical guy raising his kid without manners or-

"Can you burp the alphabet?" Beckett asked.

Ha. Okay. Never mind. No need to worry.

"She can't, but I can," he offered, giving Beckett a grin with it. She lifted her eyes to his as if to say _Of course you can_. "Want to hear?"

"I'm pretty sure I've heard enough out of you."

He laughed at that, heard his daughter snickering through her peanuts, and collared Alexis with a hand at her neck. "Okay, all right. Let's get back on the road."


	7. Chapter 7

**Vice**

* * *

It wasn't a family road trip.

It wasn't.

She had to keep that in mind.

Castle had stolen Alexis's ipod and was trying to figure out a way to hook it up to the car stereo system. Beckett was driving - she'd insisted, couching it in doing him a favor, taking a turn, but there was no way she was letting him back behind the wheel.

The closer they got to this rehab center, the more she needed this.

Music poured from the speakers - Elton's John's 'Rocket Man' - and Castle crowed. "Ha! I figured it out."

She glanced over and saw he'd used the discman's converter - the long cord which attached to a dummy tape and plugged into the headphone jack of the cd player. Only he'd plugged it into the ipod instead. She wasn't impressed.

"Ung, seriously, Alexis? Did you put this in my music library?" he muttered.

"Sure, blame it on the sweet little girl," Beckett said, keeping her face neutral.

He gaped at her, but had no comeback. She grinned and had to tear her eyes away from him.

"Got 'Yellowbrick Road'?" she murmured.

"Of course," he said and immediately it was playing.

She bit her lip. "Ipod, huh?"

"It's impressive. Just think - all those cds I would've had to take with me for a road trip. And I probably wouldn't have brought Elton John at all. But here he is. Just like that."

"Just like that," she repeated, smirking at him.

"It's magic. You can't deny that. Technology is modern-day magic."

"You sound like a little kid."

"So what? I can listen to any song I want with a touch of a button. A _thousand_ songs, Beckett. Tired of Elton John? Well, check this out."

She waited, wondered what he might choose next to play for her, what it might say about who he thought she was.

And then AC/DC filled the speakers and Alexis gave a little exclamation from the backseat. "This is my favorite!"

Kate cast startled eyes to the rearview mirror and saw the redhead was actually head-banging. Just a little.

Well then, the music selection said nothing at all about what he thought she'd want to hear; he just picked what he liked.

Yeah. That's what she thought.

This was not a family trip.

* * *

"Could you-uh take my picture? Cause I don't remember."

Beckett laughed as the girl sang, couldn't help herself either. Castle looked all smug and pleased with himself over there, like his daughter's exuberance was all his doing, and maybe it was.

Actually. Maybe it was.

She let him have it, enjoyed the ten year old's surprisingly on-key rendition of the Filter song, and let the car, which ate up the miles, also eat up her anxiety.

Richard Castle.

Who knew?

* * *

He knew he was into her.

That red dress the first night, the way she leaned in to his car with those teasing eyes, fingers long and dextrous. He'd been into her from the start.

But he'd thought it was just the allure - the mystery of her body wrapped around the hidden depths of her eyes.

Now he had her story - or the barest outlines of it - and he wanted more. Her hand on his again. Her sharp command to exit the highway. That smirk when she didn't want to believe a word he said but did anyway.

This was getting a little ridiculous. He hadn't ever meant for her to meet his daughter, for them to be on a road trip to The Dunes, for her to offer to take his kid to the bathroom in a nasty gas station.

"It's just past here," he said quietly in the darkness. Alexis had fallen asleep sprawled awkwardly in her seat belt, her face mashed into the window. It was nearly ten, and she was used to being in bed by nine. But this was important.

"This one?" Beckett murmured back. "Ah, I see the road."

She took the right hand lane, turned onto the wide avenue that bordered the ocean-front homes. He'd cracked the window when they'd gotten off the interstate, and the smell of salt water was in the wind. The moon hung low in the sky, heavy with it.

"My place is close to here," he said finally, feeling like he needed to fill the silence. "Just down that way."

"Of course. A place in the Hamptons," she sighed.

"Disappointed?" He held his breath because, damn it, it mattered what she thought.

But she gave a huff of laughter. "Castle."

He wasn't sure what that meant. "Alexis loves it. We spend all summer out here, practically."

"You got sole custody," she said, and he could tell it wasn't a question.

So he didn't answer it. He wasn't sure she was allowed this far inside. She knew details he'd never intended to let loose, and she'd figured out some other things on her own, pieced it together from whatever press was out there about him or who knew what, but he wasn't sure why he was so comfortable with it - and that made him uncomfortable.

Most of his - love interests? - they didn't get this far.

"Forget that," Beckett said suddenly. "I'm prying at your life because I'm nervous about this. Maybe they won't let me see him - maybe he won't want to see me. Maybe he does and it's terrible and I say something that makes him worse."

Her sudden lack of confidence was startling, but he reached out and brushed his hand at her shoulder, felt her body tense at the touch. He dropped his hand.

"I'm sure he'll see you," Rick said. "And yeah, they have a strict visitors' policy, and it's late already, but I can get past us past it."

"You shouldn't have paid for it," she sighed, and he saw her hand come off the wheel like she was going to do something with it. Her fingers flexed, but she dropped her hand to her lap instead, shook her head. "I don't know how to pay you back."

"It's not an obligation; there's nothing to pay back."

"You know that's not true."

"But it is, Kate," he sighed, turning his head away from her. Was there never a free gift? Never a moment of acceptance and unburdened gratitude?

"Don't make it into nothing," she said into the silence. "Don't make this into no big deal, Castle. It's everything to me right now. If I don't have him, I've got nothing."

He sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again to look at her. But no. None of it showed on her face; she was guarding it all so closely again.

"Okay," he said finally, seeing her need even if she didn't want it to show. "Okay. When I think of what I want, you'll know."

She let out a breath and sighed. "Good."

* * *

"How big a fan?" he asked instead.

Beckett clenched her fist in her lap. "Which way, Castle."

"How big a fan?"

"Castle."

"How big a fan?"

"Not big enough that I won't seriously hurt you if you don't tell me which way I'm supposed to turn. The light is green. Tell me-"

"Right."

She turned right and grumbled at him, but she could see him laughing from the corner of her eye, his grin white in the darkness of the car.

"Are you guys fighting?" came a too-curious voice, disembodied by the night.

"Yes-"

"No-"

"Yes," Beckett insisted, glaring at him.

"Are you a big fan of my dad's?"

Beckett sighed. What the hell was she supposed to do? "Alexis. I have read your dad's novels."

"All of them?"

She swallowed.

"_All_ of them?" Castle gasped.

"Shut up," she groused.

"Even the early ones? The _terrible_ ones?"

She growled at him. "You said my father told you."

"He did, but. . .I just heard indecent stories."

"Hardly indecent."

"Something about reading in the shower?"

Oh shit.

"And then there was the time you were sunbathing and a wardrobe malfunction required you to use my book as cover-"

She groaned. "My father can't shut up when he's emotional. Don't hold that against me."

"Oh no. I'm just enjoying the fact that you were holding _me_ against _you_. I'm assuming the pages were open to cover as much as possible-"

She punched him in the shoulder. "You have a ten year old back there."

"Then you definitely shouldn't be hitting me."

"No hitting the Dad." Alexis piped up, her elbows coming to the seats to prop her up between them. "The Dad abides."

"Seat belt," Beckett admonished, then turned to Castle. "You let her watch The Big Lebowski?"

"Of course not - family in-joke. And she is in her seat belt," Castle chuckled. "Just way extended. Aren't you, pumpkin? Alexis isn't much a rule breaker."

Beckett cast a quick look at the girl and saw he was right; she was still technically strapped in.

Alexis put her cheek against her father's head rest. "So you're a huge fan of Dad's. Are you on the unofficial fan site?"

This couldn't get worse.

"You are!" Castle howled, fist-pumping. "What's your handle? CastleLvr47? BigRick-"

"You might want to stop now," she said, growling at him.

"Come on. Just tell me. What can it hurt?"

"My pride."

"I bet you're the one who always says stuff about how the main characters are strong, intelligent women." Alexis shifted closer to Beckett, her elbow nearly touching Kate's ear.

"Alexis, do you read those?" Beckett asked, following the straight shot of the country road towards the rehab clinic. Only a few minutes now and she'd be able to see her father.

Escape the twenty questions.

"I read them because Dad can't handle it," Alexis said imperiously, gesturing with a flick of her fingers, sounding so adult that Beckett wondered where she'd gotten it from.

She gave a quick glance to Castle and saw the embarrassment flushing his face, the truth of his daughter's words in his eyes.

"Oh really?" Beckett said, reaching back a hand to jiggle Alexis's elbow. "Dad can't handle it?"

"He gets indignant."

"Mm, good word, pumpkin, but really - Beckett doesn't need to know-"

"Oh, but I do need to know. Even up the humiliation here," Beckett laughed. "What else Alexis? Does your Dad read the critics' reviews?"

"Gram reads the bad ones to him."

"The bad ones?" she snorted, flashing a look to Castle.

"Okay enough. Oh, and look at that. Perfect timing. There's The Dunes. On your left."

And suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.

* * *

The place was gorgeous, extravagant. A resort.

And he hadn't seen that at all, not one bit, until he watched Kate Beckett's face as she parked the car in the visitors' lot.

She looked overwhelmed.

If he had to guess, he could believe that Beckett was rarely one to be beaten, and never one to feel unequal to a task. But here she was, sitting in the driver's seat of his car, Alexis's elbows still perched between the seats, and he was seeing it all - every raw and terrible insecurity.

And he'd done it to her. Castle. Because he'd taken her father to a place she had no hope of ever affording, dropped him off without Beckett's knowledge, and then he'd made a little family trip of it so she couldn't even get furious with him for it and throw a fit - not in front of his daughter.

"Alexis," he said quietly, turning his head. "Unbuckle. Put your coat back on. Let's get out and give Kate a moment."

His daughter disappeared into the backseat but Beckett didn't move; her hands were clenched on the wheel.

Castle swallowed the grief that rose in his throat and got out of the car, the wind howling in the darkness.

* * *

"Dad?"

He took the hand she offered him and squeezed walking with her in an aimless circle around the well-lighted path along the welcome center. "Yeah, pumpkin."

"What happened?"

"I think I did something stupid."

"Oh."

"I didn't know it was stupid at the time. But I think it was," he offered, never one for lying to his daughter. His job as a father was to educate Alexis in life - the fun, the freedom, but also the rules, the way it can hurt sometimes. The more she knew, the better.

"Why was it stupid?"

"Because it's Kate's family, not mine, and I wanted us to be friends so badly that I-" He shrugged, not sure how to explain. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, really; he just knew that she wasn't happy, and she was hurting, and it was his fault.

Kate.

He'd gotten in over his head with her, but the problem was that he was beginning to love the drowning.

"You pretended to be her family?" Alexis asked, bumping into his hip as she changed the angle of their walk. "But what's wrong with that?"

"I'm not her family."

"But you told me that our good friends can be our family," Alexis said quietly. Rick glanced down at her and saw the furrowed brow, the tight purse of her mouth. "You said that you and me are small, but we're made bigger when we love - like my uncles. They're not really my uncles; they're just our friends. But we love them."

"Yes," he sighed and closed his eyes a moment. Cannell. Patterson. Yeah. "That's still true."

"So, Kate can be family too. She said she just had her dad, like I just have you." Alexis had stopped now, bringing him up short, and he hated the look of eager hope in her eyes. He should never have let her come with them, never-

"Alexis, we can't make her. We can't - we can't make her, and we shouldn't make her. Friends come and go. But you and me, pumpkin. We're good; we last. Even if we're small."

He reached out to hug her, pull her into him, but she resisted, her face fierce. "Not for us, Dad," she said, huffing at him. "It's not for us. We're fine. But she's not."

Oh. There was that.

"She and her dad are small too. But they're not a very good family." Alexis shrugged against his hand at her shoulder. "When Mom was here you didn't let me come visit her, but that's okay because I was with you. But while her dad is here, who does Kate have to be family with? She doesn't have anyone-"

Shit. His kid was gonna kill him with that so-very tender heart. "Right. You're right. Okay-"

Alexis was already pushing on his hips, moving him in the right direction, back towards their car.

* * *

Beckett's eyes were closed and the car was bone-deep cold as the winter air leached in around the metal frame.

She felt the watch on her wrist, heavy, a burden she didn't know how to carry. When she opened her eyes to look at it, her vision wavered. She clawed at the wristband, popped the prong out of the buckle, slid it off her wrist.

With the glass and metal face against her palm, she shoved it into her coat pocket and leaned her head back, swallowing hard.

And then.

Suddenly she was no longer alone.

She lifted her head and saw twin expressions of hesitation in the yellow light of a security lamp - father and daughter standing right at the driver's side window, Castle hunched over so he could see in, the ten year old with her head against her father's shoulder.

They were probably cold. And here Beckett was sitting in the car and zoning out, unable to deal, while they were trying to give her space and freezing their asses off.

She'd forgotten how demanding other people could be - how she had to actually think about them, how the dynamics shifted when there were more people than just herself and her father. Beckett had become self-absorbed. Here were two people trying to help her and she'd effectively kicked them out of their own car.

Had she lost the ability to think about things from someone else's perspective?

That was sobering. She needed that for her job too - prided herself on being the one who knew what it felt like to wounded, orphaned, the victim. She had to hold on to that, had to stop spiralling down into herself.

So Kate opened the door, the keys stiff in her hand, and put both feet on the black pavement of the parking lot. When she stood, the clawed fingers of winter dragged its nails down her spine, making her shudder, but she was okay.

She was stepping out.

Castle moved back, tugging his daughter with him, and they both watched her for a moment. Beckett turned and slammed shut the car door, handed the keys over to him. He took them without comment, sliding them into his pocket, and Kate turned her eyes to the girl huddled into her navy peacoat, shoulders up at her ears to keep out the wind, tendrils of red hair flying away from her cheeks.

But Beckett didn't know what to say. Or how to explain.

Alexis gave her a half-hopeful smile. "We thought maybe you needed some friends."

She needed. . .oh.

To go with her.

"I guess. . .I do," Beckett answered, rubbed two fingers at her forehead. "Let's get it over with then."


	8. Chapter 8

**Vice**

* * *

Castle should've remembered this. He should've warned her-

Beckett looked ready to break.

"Can we just have a quick moment with him?" Castle said, stepping in between Beckett and the woman at the reception desk inside the spacious and modern welcome center. "Fifteen minutes. This is his daughter-"

Ms Perkins, according to the nameplate, shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, sir. Not only is it way past our visiting hours, but Mr. Beckett is to have no outside contact for a mandatory three days."

"He just got here. Can't we see him and then start it over?" Castle murmured, smiling winningly down at the young woman. She blushed, fiddled with the mouse at her computer, averting her eyes.

"Our policy states that no family members, no friends, no one from a patient's old life may have contact with-"

"He's _my_ father. You can't keep me from him," Beckett growled.

Castle reached behind him and gripped her elbow, squeezed with a warning, but he kept his gaze on Ms Perkins. He let the sex appeal ooze out of his eyes, put flare in his most seductive smile. His voice lowered as he leaned in to the desk, made sure to flex so that the broad muscles of his shoulders and biceps were taut.

Her eyes flicked down, came back up quickly.

Yeah, he had her.

"Ms Perkins, I know that there are rules, and that they're in place to help these people be successful in their recovery. You know my ex-wife was here, and I gave an endowment to the rehab center for those tennis courts - you guys were such a huge help, so accommodating."

He could practically feel Kate stiffen behind him. He ignored her and focused on the receptionist. She was softening, incrementally, and the mention of the money had definitely helped.

"Mr. Beckett came straight here - I dropped him off and wrote the director a check for the full 90 days - but his daughter didn't get a chance to speak with him. She's an NYPD officer and she was on duty when he left. If we could just have a few minutes."

Ms. Perkins wavered, her mouth pressed closed but her eyes roving back and forth between Beckett and Rick, indecision written on her face.

And then her gaze trailed down to Alexis.

And he knew what would be the clincher.

Castle reached out and pulled his daughter to his side, stroking her hair and pressing her head against his hip. "This is Alexis. She just wants to see him one more time."

He wasn't lying. Not technically - his antecedents were purposefully vague - but Ms Perkins softened immediately as she looked at Alexis. "It's so hard to see a grandfather like this. . ."

Castle heard Beckett's intake of breath and he stepped in front of her again, kept his eyes on Perkins. "I'm sure it is. But it's worse to not know, to only have your imagination." He hugged Alexis a little tighter, rejoiced inwardly when she gave a breathy little sigh, tucking her face against his side, clinging to him like a much smaller child.

_Good girl._

Castle saw the moment Perkins relented. A sigh, a slump of her shoulders, and then she stood up.

"Let me see what I can do."

He'd always been good at this.

* * *

To keep up appearances after that performance he gave, Beckett had to allow Alexis and Castle to follow her inside the room. It was a therapist's office, apparently, from the decorations and awards on the walls and the comfortable leather chair in one corner.

Ms Perkins had her arms crossed over her chest like she was already regretting setting up this meeting. "Stay here. Don't leave this room. When you're done, I'll be back to escort you from the counseling center."

Beckett nodded tersely, waited until the woman had left, and then rounded on Castle. "What the hell-heck was that about?" She gestured to Alexis, clenched her hand in a fist to keep from saying more. His granddaughter? He'd insinuated that-

"It worked."

"It's not - it was a lie."

"Not really. Just acting. And it worked." His face was set, determined, and she saw suddenly how stubborn he could be, how he got what he wanted, how no one ever said _no_ to him. "You wanna not talk about this right now?" he added.

He lifted an eyebrow at her and she rocked back, twisting on her heel to sit down heavily on the edge of the therapist's desk.

So not fair. She couldn't even go off on him, righteously so, when his daughter was standing right there.

He wanted to do that to Alexis, fine. What did it matter to her? He'd gotten Beckett in to see her father; she was grateful.

"I'm - thank you," she ground out, lifting her eyes to him. "For doing this."

She was saying a lot of damn thank yous when it came to him.

The door snicked as it opened and Beckett was on her feet in an instant. Her father came over the threshold dressed in a hooded Stanford sweatshirt and a faded pair of khakis. Her fingers flexed, halting instead of reaching for him, but he paused, scanning the crowded room.

Castle took his daughter by the shoulder and nudged her towards the door. "We'll be right outside."

Beckett watched them leave, pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat to ignore the urge to call him back, ask him to stay.

Not for this. Not for this.

"Katie," her father sighed. "As always, twisting the rules to fit your needs, huh?"

She sucked in a breath and lifted her eyes to him. "Dad." Well damn. He was definitely sober.

He shook his head, his hand falling over his eyes and squeezing. "This is why I didn't want you to see me until - until I could be-"

"I know," she said, clearing her throat past the ache that throbbed, that felt like tears. "I know. I just - I needed to."

He nodded his head slowly, lowered his hand so she could see just how broken he was, how thin his control was. Drying out. It'd been how many hours? Not that long. He was - he'd been worse than she realized then, if it was affecting him this badly. She'd thought, for a while now, that he might be going through his days moderately buzzed, and this proved it.

Her fingers curled up and stroked the watch he'd left in central booking, the note crinkling in the pocket of her coat. She pulled out the timepiece and cradled it in her hand. "Dad."

He sighed and came towards her. She watched him sit carefully on the edge of the desk beside her, then reach over to hook his finger in the watch, pluck it out of her loose grip. "It's for you, Kate."

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because they took it from me every time you threw me in with the drunks. And each of those times - I thought, this is ridiculous, she's going too far, overreacting." He sighed heavily. "Until yesterday."

She wanted to cry. God, she was going to cry; she needed help. She needed-

to not be doing this alone.

She missed her mom. She wanted her mom. Everything would be fine if her mom-

"What happened yesterday?" she scraped out instead.

"I thought - damn, my daughter is such a hypocrite."

Kate sucked in a breath and leaned over on her elbows, pressing her hands into her eyes as the tears slipped free. She couldn't breathe through it, couldn't get herself back together.

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder, the slow stroke of his fingers at her scapula. "First time I admitted that what I was doing to myself wasn't healthy. First time I could see, really see, what you were doing to yourself too."

She shook her head, but the feel of his hand on her back was so good; she'd missed him so much-

"Katie, neither of us should be doing this to ourselves. Neither of us."

"I'm not-"

"If I can admit it, you can too. But I realize that whatever I say - it's going to be tainted right now. Which is why I didn't want to see you until I was - myself again. Until my words held authority again."

"Dad-" She broke and curled into him, arms around his neck, squeezing her eyes to keep from crying. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't.

"I know there's nothing I can say, nothing I can do about taking care of you until I get sober," he said, his voice low and raw in her ear from it all, but still talking. Still holding onto her as much as she was holding on to him. "I'm your father. It's time I started acting like it."

She felt the stem of his watch cutting into her palm and pulled back, glancing down between them. His hand was steady as he pressed it into her fingers. "Yours now, Katie. You take it from me because that's over. I don't want to go back to that. Time for a change."

She stared at the watch, curled her fingers around it. Her father cupped her cheeks and tilted her head up like she was three years old again and sulking in her room. His thumbs stroked, his eyes were red with burst blood vessels as he regarded her.

"The watch is for this life you've saved, Katie. The life I used to have but forgot along the way."

"Mom-" she started but he was shaking his head at her.

"Mom is gone. Your mother's gone, sweetheart. We can't get her back. All I can do now is live in honor of all she gave me, for however short a time that was. Because she gave me so much, love and happiness - and you."

Kate choked in a strangled breath, pushed it out again around the tears. "Dad-"

"Yes," he said solemnly, and then he smiled, a quirk of his mouth that she hadn't seen come so honestly and so easily in such a long time. "Yes, that's it. Give me 90 days, Katie, and that's who you'll have."

He dropped his hands and Kate felt like she couldn't keep her head up without him holding her, propping her up too.

But that wasn't true. She could - she had been since her mother died. Maybe she was just so very tired of doing it alone.

His fingers closed around her hand, took the watch from her gently and circled it around her wrist. His sobriety was apparently severe enough that he couldn't manage the strap of the watch, so Kate took over, pushing the prong into the last hole, slipped the band through the buckle.

She turned her wrist over and looked at the wide, strong face of her father's watch. It was the Father's Day present she'd given him when she was sixteen, saved up for with money she'd made at her first job waitressing.

His mouth brushed her cheek in a dry kiss, and then he was getting to his feet. When he swayed, she reached out to steady him, automatic and protective, but he batted her hand away.

She swallowed but found she couldn't manage to stand up herself; instead she watched him open the door to leave.

"Dad?"

He turned, and just past him she could see Rick Castle with his own daughter, his face expectant and concerned - the face of a father.

"Dad, I love you."

"Ninety days, Katie."

She nodded. "Ninety days," she agreed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Vice**

* * *

He didn't know what to do, and from the look on Kate Beckett's face, she didn't either.

Alexis was sitting back in the only comfortable looking armchair in the room, her feet kicking a tattoo against the ottoman, her body swallowed up by the massive piece of leather furniture. He found himself wondering if his daughter would ever be doing this some day - not visiting him in rehab (although, he couldn't say that he'd never, because look at Beckett's father), but one day needing help.

Needing professional help, be voluntarily sitting in someone's office and spilling her problems, hashing out her childhood to whatever doctored individual sat across from her. It'd be his fault, whatever it was, because he was the one she had. He was all she had.

They were small, but they loved.

Maybe she wouldn't need help, maybe he'd be enough.

"Dad."

He blinked and focused, held his hand out to his daughter. She shook her head, her hair catching with static against the leather.

"Are we stopping here or are we going home now?"

"Have to go home," Beckett said suddenly.

Castle shot her a surprised glance - it was nearly eleven now - but she had one hand over her heart like she couldn't keep it in her chest. "Well, we have a long drive-" he started.

"I have to be at work in the morning." She raised her head and met his eyes, and he saw she was struggling to pull herself together. "I have to be there. I - I'll drive. I didn't think. But I can't call in."

"I got it," he said quietly. She was trying to make detective. She had to be there. Fine. Alexis could - she'd probably conk out in the car, but he'd just keep her home from school tomorrow. No point in forcing her to slog through in a daze.

Alexis would be upset with him. He'd have to sneak in and unplug her alarm clock too.

"Let's go," Beckett said suddenly, breaking for the door. He startled, and she gave him a swift look over her shoulder. "Like you said. Long drive."

* * *

Castle opened the back door for Alexis, palmed her cheek when she passed by him to get in the car. "See if you can sleep, pumpkin."

His daughter snorted at him and clicked her seatbelt place, giving him that patented grown-up staredown. Yeah, that was what he'd expected - no way did she want to miss anything.

He shut the car door and glanced over the roof to Beckett. She was biting her lower lip and staring back at the rehab center, the security lamp light falling harshly across her too-sharp cheekbones. With the darkness hiding everything but her illuminated face, she looked ghostly and hollow.

She'd just left her father in rehab. No wonder.

"Kate?"

"Sorry," she said and shook her hair, tossing it like she was trying dispell a vision she didn't want. Her eyes came back to his. "I didn't think about - you know, bedtimes and stuff. I-"

"Don't worry about it. It won't kill her."

Beckett took in a long breath, and he saw her eyes drift again.

"You sure you want to drive?"

"I need to," she said quietly, and then she was gracefully sliding behind the wheel.

He stood on the black tarmac for a beat longer, the impression of her body and her grief still lingering, and then he followed.

* * *

He played Beatles music to keep a steady white noise going over the sounds of their conversation - if there was going to be any conversation to mask. Not likely, it seemed.

Beckett kept silent, and his daughter's head had grown heavy; she was slumped against the passenger door, rousing from time to time to yell out the next letter of the alphabet game when she could keep her eyes open.

It wasn't quiet, but it was still. Despite their forward movement back to the city, the sense of being held trapped, immobile, was thick around his chest, emenating from the woman driving.

She was untouchable.

He'd known that at the beginning - had been warned of it at least. But he had mistakenly thought that showing up would earn him the right to know her. Showing up. Like that could change things, like his presence alone, his attention, would combat years of solitary, independent grief.

He couldn't. He was powerless against that kind of-

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Alexis?"

He turned his head to the back seat, his vision catching on Beckett. She had both hands clenched around the wheel, back ramrod straight, defensive, prepared.

"Today at school?" Alexis always introduced her stories this way, like she needed permission to keep going, like she was asking if this was an acceptable beginning and could she continue. She was doing it now, he could see, to keep herself from falling asleep.

"Go ahead."

"Today at school my teacher started reading us a new book."

"Oh. What book?"

"Where the Red Fern Grows."

"Oh jeez," Beckett muttered, casting him a swift look. "That book is so sad."

"It's sad?" Alexis asked, leaning forward again to hang on his seat. She turned to look at him. "Is it too sad for me?"

"I haven't read it. Beckett is it too sad?"

She was chewing on her lip and slowly releasing her stranglehold on the steering wheel. "Well."

"Don't tell me!" Alexis shrieked in his ear. "I don't want to ruin it. No. Wait. Tell me. Tell me what happens that's so sad; I gotta know."

"No way!" he protested, reaching back to tug on her ear. "That's so wrong. What have I taught you?"

"But I can't, Dad. I can't get so in love with all the people if they die."

His heart softened but he couldn't let that go. "Let the story affect you, Alexis. Let it come. It's-"

"It's too sad for you," Beckett said suddenly. "People don't die but-"

"No one dies?" Alexis whispered breathlessly. "No one dies. Okay. I can-"

"Well," Beckett hedged. "It's been a long time, Alexis. The main kid doesn't die, and I can't say for sure about everyone else. But what made me sad - how far into it are you?"

"I don't know. We just read and read before the last bell. It's so good. Billy is working and saving up his money for coonhound puppies."

"Yes," Beckett said flatly. "Well."

That one _well_ resounded loudly in the relative quiet of the car. Alexis gasped and lunged forward, her cheek nearly against Beckett's. "Well? Well. Oh no. Oh no."

"Alexis, pumpkin, the book should be told as it's meant to be told. Don't skip ahead-"

"Does he get his dogs and do they die? Do they _die_, Kate?"

Kate gave him another sharp look, challenge in it, actual spark and fire and _fight_ to her again, and even though he wanted his daughter to be caught unawares by the way a good story could sucker punch you, make you hurt and long and love, he also wanted Kate Beckett.

He also wanted Kate Beckett.

He waved his hand in a be-my-guest gesture and she let out a long breath.

"Spoiler alert," she murmured. "The dogs die."

"Ohhh," Alexis moaned, slumping her head down on the seat. "This story is gonna kill me, Dad."

He gave her a roll of his eyes, scraped his thumb along the slender column of her neck. "Well not, anymore, pumpkin. She just told you what happens."

"But not how. Not when. I'll be on edge all the time, every chapter, wondering." Alexis shivered and sat up. "It's gonna be so good."

"It is so good," Beckett said softly. "It stuck with me all this time. I think I was twelve when I read it. And I didn't know anything about dogs or coon-hunting or any of it. But it stayed with me."

"His dogs die," Alexis whispered, and then her skinny arm came around Castle's neck, squeezing. "I want a dog, Dad, but-"

"We talked about this."

"_But-_" she said insistently. "But I don't want to have my dog die. If I got a dog and I loved it and took care of it and it died? That would be so awful."

He chuffed at her, stroked his fingers along her arm. "Just because something might die is no reason to not love it, to not want it. That's ridiculous. You have to risk your heart for love, Alexis."

"Not necessarily," Beckett muttered. "No point in opening yourself up to that. I mean. Don't buy a dog that's sick, don't attach yourself to something that you know won't make it."

Alexis sighed. "That make sense-"

"No, it doesn't," he interrupted, squeezing his daughter by the wrist. "Having that time to love your dog? However long you get. That's worth it. It's worth it, Alexis. Just like reading the story - or having it read to you - is worth the heartache of the dogs dying in the end."

Alexis tilted her head on the seat and watched him for a moment; she didn't seem convinced.

"Alexis, you think it was easy when your mother - you were a baby and I was by myself and didn't know what to do-"

"Oh," she said, her mouth open in surprise. Not because she hadn't thought of it before - she had, and they'd had this conversation twice so far - but because he knew she'd never thought about risking her tender little heart in the same way he had.

"Oh is right," he said softly. "You are worth it, in every way, pumpkin. I don't want you to not love something, someone, just because it might be scary or hard or sad. Because it is worth it. Love is always worth it. I love you."

And then his daughter was launching herself at him, strangled by the seat belt and laughing as it aborted her embrace. But Rick circled her neck and kissed her cheek.

"See, kiddo? It's worth it."

Even though his daughter was wriggling and happy now, falling back into her seat after kissing him and hugging on his neck, Castle couldn't help directing his last words to Kate Beckett.

"Just let the story happen. Let it unfold as it's meant to be."

* * *

The drive back was over before it began.

He knew that, but nothing he did could stop it, stop her. She was already lost to him.

When she pulled into the underground garage below his apartment building, she deftly parked the car in his assigned spot, turned off the engine with a flick of her wrist. She was silent and his daughter had fallen asleep in the backseat; he didn't want to move, break the spell.

"I should go."

He nodded and stared straight ahead. He had nothing to keep her. He'd wanted the story and he had gotten it, and now all he wanted was to never come to the end.

"Beckett-"

"Your keys," she murmured, holding them out by the keychain over his closed palm.

For a moment, he had the immature thought that if he just didn't open his fingers, if he just didn't let her give his keys back, then she'd have to stay.

But he took the keys with a sharp nod. "Yeah. I've got to get Alexis upstairs and into bed."

"It's late," she sighed. "I - she'll be okay for school?"

"No. I'll keep her home. Have to tie her to the bed to do it, but she should sleep."

"She'll miss the book," Kate murmured, and he could hear her turning her head to look at him. But he couldn't look back. Not for the last time.

"She'll be okay. We'll figure something out." Maybe they'd go check it out from the library and read the next chapter together. He'd spend the time concentrating on his daughter to keep from thinking about the woman seated next to him who would never be his.

Damn. How long had it taken this time? A car ride? He was an idiot; he was bad for his kid's mental health and he needed to stop falling in love with mysterious women. At least Sophia Turner had never met Alexis, at least she had disappeared before he could make another wound on his kid's psyche.

Castle rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd been successfully distracting himself with Kate Beckett - so successfully he'd just replaced one with the other. Great.

He was an ass. And she deserved - needed - better than a stand-in for a CIA agent who wanted nothing to do with him, nothing real anyway.

Castle slumped his shoulders and opened his eyes, stared at the concrete blocks of the garage, measured his breathing to keep the frustration from spilling over. Before he could turn to Beckett and beg for - something, anything, he didn't know what - he pushed open the passenger door and got out.

She came after him, on the other side, and the awkwardness was ridiculous. Too bad. Too late. At least she wouldn't have to deal with him ever again.

Castle glanced at the back where his daughter's adorable face was mashed against the glass. He laughed softly at the sight and then stood there, trying to find the will to move.

Beckett was crawling into the back seat.

Why was Beckett crawling into the back seat?

He watched in astonishment as she gently cupped his daughter's shoulder, lifting her from the window, and then gestured at him to get a move on it. He hurriedly opened the back door and sank down on his haunches to wake her up.

Alexis stirred, came spilling into his arms with a sigh and her eyes pressed into his shoulder. But he could feel her becoming slowly aware even as Beckett got out of the car and shut the door.

"Alexis, wake up. You're too big to carry."

"What time's it?" she muttered, dragging her legs out of the car and putting them on the concrete. He stood back up and gripped her by the arm, helping her.

"Late," he laughed, holding her against his side and shutting the back door.

Beckett was by the trunk, waiting on them, still here. She hesitated and he indicated the elevator. She glanced that way with apprehension written all over her face.

"It'll take you back up to the lobby," he explained.

She nodded and followed him towards the elevators.

* * *

And just like that, she was free.

Kate Beckett walked out of his building and down the street and realized-

her subway line didn't run this late.

She pulled her cell phone out and called a cab company; within minutes she was being picked up and headed for her own little apartment, whisked away from the crazy tilt-a-whirl ride that had been this evening.

When she got inside her place, the remnants of her command post were still scattered over the coffee table. She ignored it and toed off her shoes, then shrugged out of her coat, let it flop over the back of her couch on her way to her bedroom. The wooden floors creaked under her feet as she shed her clothes, the cold seeping into her skin.

Beckett grabbed pajamas from the dresser, put her father's watch on top, and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind her and letting her shoulders slump.

Long, damn day.

She ran the water as hot as it would go, sank on top of the toilet seat as she waited for it to fill the tub. She couldn't even be bothered with bubbles; she just wanted to sink down into that floating nothing.

Alexis was going to miss school tomorrow. Because of her. Because of Kate. Because she'd been too self-absorbed to think about anyone other than herself.

Oh, and the book. Her class was reading a book and Alexis really liked it and she'd miss a whole chapter or maybe even two, and all because of Kate.

The water hadn't even filled the bottom of the tub, but she didn't care. She stepped into the heat and sank down gratefully, forced her back to the cold porcelain as punishment for today.

It was easier like this, alone in the darkness of her bathroom, no one around. It was easier and healthier because she'd spent the last five years struggling out of a dark hole, and she knew the measure of herself, knew what she was capable of.

She wasn't capable of Richard Castle right now.

But she owed him. Big time.

And that was the thought that wouldn't let her rest.


	10. Chapter 10

**Vice**

* * *

Was that his alarm?

Rick Castle groaned and turned over in his bed, glanced blearily at the clock's glowing orange numbers.

Couldn't be his-

Shit, the door.

He stumbled out of bed and his knee buckled, sending him thudding into the side of his shelves and ricocheting off down the hall. He scrubbed a hand through his face and hoped his mother hadn't gotten herself into trouble. Maybe she had just locked herself out of her own place, maybe she needed the extra key to her apartment.

He could only hope.

She was _not _bringing another boyfriend back here to play his piano at five in the morning. No. He had to draw the line somewhere.

Castle flipped the deadbolt and swung open the door. "You're not-"

He was arrested by Kate Beckett.

_Twice_, his brain supplied.

Officer Kate Beckett, wearing her winter uniform pants, the holster with its gear (like Batman's utility belt), the turtleneck with the white NYPD, the heavy, weather-proofed coat. She lifted an eyebrow and he stepped back.

Stared.

Then remembered his manners. "Come in."

"I can't. On my way to-"

"Work," he supplied. "Okay."

"I wanted to drop this off. For Alexis."

She reached out a hand and he took the plastic bag from her with a startled reflex, pressing it against his chest so it wouldn't fall. "What is it?"

"The book she's reading."

His jaw dropped.

She sighed. "She's going to miss the chapter - so at least, maybe this way, she can read it and catch up. And I won't feel like such a selfish bitch for dragging the two of you into my personal life."

He sucked in a breath and glanced down at the package, reached inside to pull out Where the Red Fern Grows. "Where'd you get this? Stores aren't open."

Instead of answering, he saw something in her face harden, her eyes back to being careful and guarded. Because of a store?

"I know a guy," she said finally.

"Wow. Thank you. Really. Thank you. This will help."

He stared down at the book for a moment longer, mesmerized by the very idea of Kate Beckett going and buying a gift for his daughter to make up for last night. When he lifted his gaze back to her, he saw her shift uncertainly and flush, a hand coming up to scrape at a flyaway hair, her eyes darting to his hallway, back to him, away again.

She looked uncomfortable. She looked-

Was she staring at his crotch?

He was - ohhh, right - he was wearing his boxers and nothing else. And it was early morning and she looked pretty alluring in her uniform and-

He grinned, tried to inconspicuously suck in his chest.

She was checking him out.

Kate Beckett had bought a book for his daughter to give her the pretense of coming over here and checking him out. (So he assumed.)

She wanted him. (Again, he was also assuming, but these were solid assumptions. Based on lots of facts. And the way she was - maybe - blushing right now.)

He narrowed his eyes and stepped in a little closer, watched her reaction carefully as she made a fist and averted her eyes. But she didn't step back. She didn't move at all. She stayed right where she was, and then her tongue came out to dart against her top lip.

Oh whoa. If she did that again, he'd have to kiss her.

He'd wanted to kiss her for weeks and-

"I have to go," she said quickly, and moved like she was going to leave. Leave him standing there in his doorway with only boxers on and no kiss.

No way.

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, held her there; she lifted her face to him in surprise, but her mouth opened, her eyes flicked down to his lips and back up again.

Invitation, pure and simple.

* * *

Everything stopped.

The rush in her head, the painful awkwardness of meeting him at his front door with a stupid apologetic gift for his daughter, the riot in her blood from watching the play of muscle and bone and sinew under his skin.

Everything stopped.

When his mouth touched hers.

Soft as satin, sinfully warm. The skirting breath at her cheek, the nuzzle of his nose as he angled her into place, the contact of his lips on hers.

Beckett stopped.

And then the humming in her veins began to clamor, the ache in her chest cracked open and spread jaggedly through her limbs until she found herself pitching into him, a little raw, a lot desperate.

His mouth opened.

She pressed her palm to his bare chest, skin hot and firm, felt her thighs brush his. Then suddenly she realized the back of her fingers were tracing the shape of his ribs and moving down, entirely without her say. But his mouth - his mouth on hers and his hand at her neck. And then her thumb was snagging at his boxers, and his tongue was stroking the roof of her mouth in retaliation or invitation or suggestion, and - she did it.

She slipped her hand past the waistband of his boxers, fingers seeking, and his hips drove sharply into her pelvis-

And then the crinkle of the plastic bag between them snapped her out of it.

She backed up, stunned by the taste of him, the heady look in his eyes that must - _had to_ - mirror the look in her own. Her fingers burned. He still held her by her other wrist.

She didn't know how to leave.

He cleared his throat and looked like he was trying to speak; nothing came out.

Beckett tugged on her arm to break his hold, steadfastly ignored the way her body was aware of his, each cell finely tuned and vibrating to his pitch.

He let her go but stepped out into the hallway after her. "Beckett," he said finally, but she was already turning to leave.

Mistake. A mistake, stupid mistake-

His hand caught her by the pocket of her uniform coat, stayed her. "I know what I want," he growled.

Oh damn. No.

"You said to let you know. You owe me, because it matters to you. I know what I want now," he repeated.

She closed her eyes, grit her teeth. "You do know that I'm _not_ a prostitute?" she growled back.

He tugged and her body - so eager and traitorous - came to him without trouble, her shoulder falling to his chest, her feet tripping over themselves. She was usually never this disgraceful.

"I know what I want," he said again, like he was enjoying the tease of his words across her inflamed nerves, like his voice was a hand that trailed slowly down her side.

"What do you want?" she shot back, jerking from the clutch of him to stand on her own two feet, separate. So what if he'd paid for the full 90-day treatment for her father? So what if it had to be at least a hundred thousand dollars? She'd drive up there and get him out and do something else. She wasn't having _sex_ with Richard Castle to pay her father's rehab bill. The ass-

"I want to use you-" he started.

What the _hell_ kind of proposition was this? He wasn't even trying to be romantic. The insufferable, pompous-

"-for a character."

For a-

"What?" she gasped.

"A new character. A whole book about - you, Beckett. Your story, your tragedy, the precinct, your fierce-"

"What are you talking about?" she said, falling backwards.

"I want to come with you to work. I want to follow you around for a month. Just to learn. A ride-along. They have those, right? You can show me how to run the lights and siren."

No.

No.

He couldn't be serious.

She pressed a hand to her forehead and stared at him.

"Can't I just pay you back with sex?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Vice**

* * *

His mouth covered hers before anything else could escape.

A tantalizing taste of velvet and anger, the heat of her lips, before she stiffened.

She jerked back, pushing at him with her fists on his chest, but it was just the lean of her torso away from him. Her hips were still snug against his, her thighs warm and lithe between his.

"Castle."

"No," he answered. "I want this."

"This?" An incredulous raise of her eyebrow, an encompassing gesture between them-

He leaned in but she pushed again, dislodging herself from his loose embrace this time. He watched the rise and fall of her body which the bulky uniform couldn't hope to disguise, watched the flicker of desperation in her eyes.

And not the good kind.

It was the kind that had her looking like a trapped animal, both hands up to fend him off. "No. This won't happen. And the ride-along - that's not happening either."

"Why not?" To either. To both. He wanted her; she'd come back. She had shown up at his front door at five in the morning with a book for his daughter and how could he not want her?

"I'm a uniform. They'd never let me - maybe a day, for a call - but never so long as a month. You can't just waltz into the 12th like you own it, Castle."

"What about when you make detective? That would be so cool. What would you wear? Not the uniform, but maybe something sexy, powerful, with-"

"Castle," she grit out, and stepped back again.

"But if it's just hanging out with you while you solve a case - that would be awesome. And it'd be better too, because the kind of character you'd make. . .she'd be bad-ass, and in charge, and kinda slutty." He grinned at her, felt the slow flip of his heart when her mouth parted, lips ripe, waiting, calling to him-

"No," she said, shaking her head with a toss that had her short, spiky hair tumbling. So that he had visions of it against his sheets, the arch of her white throat, the smoke and fire in her eyes as he-

"It's not happening. I have to go."

"Wait," he startled, coming back to the present, to _reality_, as she moved off down the hallway. "Wait, Beckett. What about-"

"I said no."

She left him.

Left him with no other option.

* * *

Beckett ran into the Captain of the Twelfth outside the women's locker room; if she didn't know better, she'd say he was waiting for her. Skulking outside the women's bathroom.

"Beckett. Just the person I was looking for."

Damn.

She stiffened as he touched her elbow, guiding her off to one side, but she knew there was nothing for it. He'd taken her under his wing, guided her, made her see clearly the path laid out for her. She'd suffer the name-calling if it meant she had an inside track. _Teacher's pet_ held nothing on _Detective Beckett _(though some of the other names they'd come up with made her jaw ache)_._

"Sir?" she asked, once Montgomery had led her out of the flow of traffic. Her hair was wet from the shower; she'd needed the sparring time this morning before work, just to release all that pent up frustration Castle incited in her.

Not thinking about Castle. Work. Her job. No Castle.

"I've had a phone call from the mayor; he got a phone call from the DA."

"Oh?" What exactly did this have to do with her?

"Apparently, the DA is good friends with someone you know, Beckett. Richard Castle-"

Fuck.

"-is looking to write a new series. Guess who he wants to base his character on?"

"Me," she sighed, swallowing hard. She'd told him in no uncertain terms that it would never happen. Not just because she didn't want him here, but also because she really _couldn't_ have him here. She was a lowly uniform; she didn't have the authority-

"You. You wanna tell me how come I got the mayor asking me if one of my junior officers has made detective yet? How come the mayor is telling me that the moment she does, Richard Castle is going out with her?"

Going _out_ with her?

"We're not going out," she interjected.

Captain Montgomery tilted his head, a calculating look behind his eyes that she had learned to dread. "I meant - riding out with you, Officer Beckett."

Put in her place. "Yes, sir."

"So you do know this Richard Castle."

"I do."

"How'd you meet him?"

"I arrested him," she said plainly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming in frustration. Damn him. He had called the DA and gotten the DA to call the _mayor?_

"Well, Beckett. You have two weeks before applications are open. And then it looks like your job as a detective will be baby-sitting Richard Castle."

She was going to kill him.

* * *

"I'm going to murder you."

Castle grinned and pressed the phone to his ear, bouncing upright in the couch where he'd been dozing. "Good morning again, Officer."

"I'm going to castrate you first, Castle. And then I'm going to murder you."

"Are you sure it's such a good idea to warn me ahead of time?"

"I'm going to have fun doing it."

"Oh, Beckett. I think I will, too."

He heard her strangled cry and then nothing; Castle pulled his phone away to check it and yeah - yeah, awesome - she'd hung up on him.

"Dad?"

He twisted around on the couch to see his little girl at the top of the stairs, looking confused. "Hey, pumpkin. It's early-"

"It's _late_," she accused, taking one step down.

"Ah. Actually, still early for girls who are missing school today."

"Dad. No!" Alexis came flying down the stairs, thudding with each step, sounding like an elephant. She came to a halt in front of him, her hands on her hips, lips pursed - like her mother pitching a hissy fit.

Funny. He'd never seen Alexis throw a fit.

Oh, except that once. Five years ago - she'd been tired. Probably like she was now.

"Alexis," he said quietly, a warning.

"Dad. You can't do this to me!"

"I can-"

"I have to go to school. This is so not fair. I've got a spelling test and I studied all yesterday and I know my words - and these are _hard_ words - and I'll have to memorize them all over again-"

"Don't you think you should be learning them? Not memorizing them?"

"You're not funny," she cried, stomping her foot as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"You're not either," he said dryly, still trying for a smile.

"Dad. You don't get to just keep me home because you feel like it. You're no better than Mom!"

"Hey now-"

"I just missed a week of school because Mom kidnapped me to Paris, and you didn't even stop her, and I-"

"Alexis," he warned again, raising a hand and dropping it on her shoulder to settle her down.  
"This is not the same. She told me she was taking you out to lunch, not for a week. I talked with your mother about that-"

"That was _this year_, Dad. I can't miss any more school. I have to-"

"No." He stood up and gripped her shoulder, turning her around and nudging her towards the stairs. "You have to go back to bed and get a full night's rest before you say something you'll regret."

She fumed silently as he marched her back to the staircase; he felt his will crumbling even as he pushed her towards her room. He was the cool dad; he wasn't supposed to be getting a verbal tongue lashing from his ten year old about skipping school.

The universe was having a big laugh at his expense. Richard Castle's kid actually _wanted_ to go to school.

He sighed and grabbed the plastic bag Beckett had wrapped her gift in - or rather, not wrapped it in. "If it makes you feel better, Kate came by a couple hours ago to give you this."

Alexis hesitated on the bottom step, turned slowly to look at it. He wasn't sure what that expression was on her face, only that he was off the hook for being a terrible dad.

"What is it?" Alexis said, a little breathless, her voice quiet and sharp like a small child's.

"Look and see."

Alexis took the bag and peered inside, slipped her hand in to pull out the book.

"Oh. My book. She bought me my book?" Alexis's round, freckled face turned up to his with wide eyes. "Dad. She got me my book."

"Yeah."

His daughter dropped her eyes back to the gift in her hands; she didn't seem to know what to do with it.

"Alexis?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll write her a thank you note."

He laughed and reached up to tug on one of her ginger bangs. "No, pumpkin, not what I was looking for. Does this make it easier to miss school today?"

Alexis looked up at him again, her face inscrutable. She gave a long sigh and then threw her arms around his neck, his little girl again.

"I love you, Daddy. I love Kate too."

Oh, damn. "I love you too," he sighed, kissing her forehead and wondering what exactly he might have accidentally done. What damage he'd eventually be causing.

Except - hadn't he just given her that lecture about risking her heart?

"Can I read it now?" she asked into his neck, then pulled back with her book held in both hands and gripped to her chest.

"So long as you're in bed."

"Yay!" she squealed and bounced up on her toes to kiss his cheek, then sprinted up the stairs again.

"No breakfast until at least ten," he called after her. "See if you can put the book down long enough to sleep in." He sighed as she disappeared. "For once."

Yeah, right. His kid would never sleep in.

He knew better.

* * *

Alexis came flying back downstairs at nine-fifty-eight, her hair in a tangled mess from reading in bed. She had the book open and was scrambling up into the chair at the bar.

"Dad, do we have to give it back?"

"What, pumpkin?" He turned from the stove with her scrambled eggs already dished up, handed it to her. "Toast or french toast?"

"No."

"Neither?"

"Neither. Do we have to give Kate her book back?"

"She said it was a gift-"

"But look," Alexis said, spreading open the pages with one hand while she grabbed a chunk of eggs with the other. She blew on them and stuffed them in her mouth, then fanned her hand in front of her face.

"They're still hot," he said wryly.

"Look," she mumbled, holding the book open and chewing her eggs. "See? It's Kate's book. But can I keep it for a while? I want to reread the chapters when I get home from school. If someone will even _let_ me go-"

He snatched the book out of her hand and turned it around, staring at the doodles in the margin. Young hand, wide and round letters: _Katie B._

"It's her book," he said dumbly.

"Yeah. Do you think I can keep it for a while?"

"She gave it - I think she said - it was a gift."

_I know a guy._

Castle lifted the book to his nose and sniffed - musty, closed up. Her father then. It'd been at her father's place? Had she gone back to her parents' home and dug through boxes sometime before five o'clock this morning just so his daughter would have the book to read?

"Give it back," Alexis said, leaning over the counter to grab it. "Can I keep it?"

"We'll have to ask," he said slowly. "I thought she said it was a gift. But-"

"It's so good, Dad. It's such a good book. Do you think Kate has other books?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his jaw as he stared at the yellowed book. He hadn't thought about it this morning, had assumed she'd gone to a used bookseller, a friend, and-

"Dad? You think we could ask her?"

"What? To use her private collection like a library?" he grinned, reaching over to snarl his fingers in his daughter's tangled hair. She winced and backed off the counter, sitting in her seat again.

"Well. I mean. We could - I could maybe ask? She already knew this book. Maybe there are other really great books, Dad. How will I ever know? I could be missing so many."

"That's true." Beckett. Ask Beckett. He didn't want to, but he wanted to. What did that mean? "We can ask. You're out of school, so. . .maybe we should see if she wants some lunch, a good surprise, right?"

"Oh!" Alexis perked up, the book open again on the counter. "That's a good idea. Lunch. Let's do that, Dad."

He grinned. "Okay, we will. But first. Breakfast. Now, I know you said no to toast, but come on. French toast. I have a really awesome idea - marshmallows and chocolate syrup-"

"Ew. Dad. No."

* * *

Beckett bounced.

Off a man's chest and back into the elevator she had just stepped out of, her hands coming up too late, but just in time to feel the hard edges of his pecs, the smooth and warm-

"Castle," she grunted, wincing as she righted herself, his fingers at one of her elbows and tugging her forward again.

"We were just coming to see you," he said, his voice happy and entirely too loud for the headache behind her eyes.

"Why?" she said.

"Wait. Why are you in my building?" he said, sliding his fingers up the back of her arm in an entirely too familiar way. Intimate. She shivered and stepped back, saw Alexis at his side only then.

"Hey, Kate. Thanks for the book," she said, waving Kate's copy of Where the Red Ferns Grows. "Can I keep it for a while?"

"It's yours now," Kate shrugged, ignoring the father who still looked too eager and too pleased. "You get to keep it for as long as you want it. Then pass it on if you're tired of it."

"I'm never giving it away," Alexis said with relish, hugging it to her chest.

Oh. Um. That wasn't exactly - she hadn't meant to inspire such. . .loyalty.

"My daughter likes you," Castle murmured then, a voice in her ear and a wall of heat at her side, too close. "I like you. But still. What are you doing here, Beckett?"

"I-" She glanced at the long hallway outside his apartment door, swallowed hard. Alexis was staring up at her with those blue eyes, that adoring face. Already. Damn, this wasn't at all what she'd intended.

"Alexis. Read your book for a second," she said quickly, turning his daughter around and leading her back down the hall. And Castle was letting her, it seemed. Weird. Not good. Really, not good. She shouldn't be able to have this much-

"Why? Are you guys gonna talk about stuff I shouldn't hear?"

"Yes," she said with relief. "Exactly. So-"

"But I want to hear it."

"Alexis," Castle said. "Go sit by the front door. Then we'll all have lunch together."

Alexis left her hands reluctantly, a lingering look over her shoulder, but Kate turned back to Castle. He raised an eyebrow and she saw he didn't - oh, he didn't seem too amused by that. In fact, she might have actually crossed a line.

"Sorry. I just - we have to talk. And I can't always - I need to be able to tell you the truth."

"You can tell the truth in front of my daughter."

She looked at him straight on, no flinching. "No, I can't."

His face fell, a blankness came down behind his eyes. But it wasn't a wall (like her own), it was a mask; he brought out a charming smile, slow and sexy, and his body leaned in towards hers. She was made breathless just by the look.

But it wasn't really him. She could see that too. This wasn't the guy who'd sat beside her in the car last night and tried to keep her from thinking too hard about her father.

"So, truth time then. What are you doing here, Beckett?"

She felt her stomach roll at the smarmy edge to his voice, at the hollow way his eyes met hers. She didn't like it at all. But - but that's what she wanted, right? The father, the friend, the concerned man - she couldn't handle that. This would make it easier. "It's my lunch break. I came to tell you no."

"No what?"

"No. No you can't follow me around when I make detective. If I even make detective-"

"If? Why the sudden-"

"Because of you," she hissed, poking him in the chest. Castle caught her finger before she could move away, kept it, his hand steadily working to encompass all of hers. She lowered her voice and shifted to keep her back to Alexis down the hall. "Because of your interfering. Now it looks like I _slept_ my way-"

"No, it doesn't," he said, and she could see shock transmitted clearly over the face of his shallowness, like lightning in a pond. "Why would it - how could it possibly look like that?"

"Think about it, Castle. You just called in and basically told my boss's _boss_ that I had to be hired on as a dectective. They think I'm sleeping with you."

"Well, that's no fun," he pouted, back to the playboy. "All the risk but none of the reward? We should remedy that immediately."

She took a breath, pleased that he saw the very real threat to her job here. "Yes. Good. Okay, if you just-"

"Maybe dinner tonight."

"Dinner?" she asked. "Just call him back right now-"

"Him? Him who?"

"Wait, what?" she said, shaking her head at him.

"You and me. Let's work on correcting that oversight." His hands bracketed her waist and she stared at him.

Correcting that-

"What the _hell_, Castle?" she hissed, glad her back was to Alexis. Still, she worked at lowering voice. "That is not what we'll be doing. You call your friend back and tell him-"

"I don't want to. I want to follow you around. You said you didn't have the authority for that until you made detective. So I made sure that when you do, because you will, you're good-"

"Castle," she moaned, pressing a hand over her eyes to block out the sight of his stubborn, petulant, childish face. She'd been wrong - this wasn't the man she wanted. This wasn't supposed to be Rick Castle.

He leaned in; she could feel him close, his breath at her ear, and despite herself, her body was instantly aware of him.

"I love the way you say my name," he murmured. "No one else calls me Castle."

Oh shit. She was in trouble.


	12. Chapter 12

**Vice**

* * *

"You're coming to lunch with us, right?" his daughter said, skipping ahead to press the button.

Beckett looked seriously hot when she was pissed. But Castle noticed her rearrange her face before Alexis turned back to them, even pulling out a strangled smile for her.

He smothered his own smirk and stepped onto the elevator when it came. "We were going to come by and take you out for Mexican. Alexis's favorite place."

"I really can't. I took my lunch break coming down here-"

"And that took, what?, twenty minutes? You've got an hour for off-site lunch."

"How do you know? I might only have thirty-"

"I asked. Research."

She pressed her hand to her forehead; he could see her taking deep breaths.

"Are you coming, Kate?" Alexis asked, leaning against one wall of the elevator.

Kate lowered her hand and stared at his daughter; he interrupted before she could say no.

"Alexis wanted to see if you had any book recommendations."

Beckett turned her eyes to him, deep and dark and dangerous. She was warning him; he could see it so clearly.

Problem was, he'd never been good at taking direction.

He gestured to the book in his daughter's hands. "This one is yours, right, Kate?"

She swiveled her head back to Alexis, and for a strange, long moment, she said nothing.

And then she did.

"Yeah. I can - show you the box of all the books I had when I was a kid. After lunch, if we're fast."

She'd cracked. She'd given in.

"Yay! Dad, let's eat fast, okay?"

He hadn't expected her to cave quite so quickly.

* * *

What was she supposed to do? Every time she tried to bring it up, explain how this made her look to everyone at the station, he brushed her aside.

No, not true. He listened, and then he countered with other arguments, faster reasoning, logic that wasn't logic at all but talking in circles.

And he was armed. With his daughter.

There wasn't time after lunch to head back for the box of books she'd pilfered from her father's place, but she promised Alexis to bring them by - against her better judgment.

And of course, Castle jumped right on it. He stopped her on the sidewalk before she could make a fast escape back to the precinct.

"Dinner tonight, then," he said, his fingers in a grip at her elbow. She pulled away from him with a look, saw the question, the discomfort on Alexis's face and had to make a conscious effort to stop treating the girl's father like a disease she was trying not to catch.

Might be too late anyway.

"No, Castle."

"Dinner tomorrow night. You can bring over the books Alexis wants to see."

It was damn underhanded to use his daughter to finagle a dinner acceptance.

"It doesn't work like that," she said instead. "I don't have set hours. I might get called out to work - ah, a corner, if you know what I mean-"

"Dad said you pretend to be a prostitute to catch bad guys," Alexis interruped, leaning past her father to look at Kate.

"Ah. Yes, that - is true."

"Cool. Are there are a lotta bad guys?"

"Loads," she muttered, sighing as Castle grinned at her.

"Maybe you can just write down the names of the books that are good?" Alexis said carefully. Her eyes weren't quite meeting Kate's, her hand crept up to hook in her father's arm. "That way - you don't have to come. If you - since you can't be sure."

Shit. He was using his daughter to work her over like a suspect in the box and it was working because his daughter actually, damn it, meant it.

She clenched her fists, hated to see how Alexis had withdrawn now, back against her father's side, a living shield. "Alexis. I - I can drop them off at some point-"

"Or how about this?" Castle interrupted. "Standing invitation to dinner. Any night. Just call before you show up so that you know we're home. If you get off in time, that's great. If not, then we won't wait up for you."

She stared at him.

"We eat dinner around seven," Alexis supplied helpfully, and the eagerness had crept back into her eyes. "It's supposed to be six, but Dad says stuff happens. So it ends up being seven most nights. That's late, right? You could maybe make it that late at least. . .one night?"

Damn, damn, damn. She didn't need this - she couldn't afford this.

And they couldn't afford her either. She was going to hurt this kid, this kid she actually liked, and she couldn't do a thing to stop it.

It was already too late.

"Standing dinner invitation," Castle said softly. "You know you want to."

"Fine," she got out, shaking her head once in frustration. "Fine. If I - if I'm not called to work a case and my shift ends in time, then. . .yes."

* * *

She couldn't bear to look as she stepped off the elevator, her heart heavy.

She knew exactly where Captain Montgomery's office was, and she directed her steps there without a hitch, ignoring everything else. She had to focus on this, just on this, his office and letting him know how it had to be.

She knocked and came in when he motioned her inside. Her heart was in her throat.

"Officer," he said. And before she could bring it up, he was leaning back in his chair and studying her, saying, "You got your application ready?"

Beckett gritted her teeth and rubbed at her forehead. "Not yet, sir."

"Do that soon. Two weeks - but you could send yours straight to me when you get it ready."

"Sir," she started, catching the Captain before he could turn back to his paperwork. "I - I don't feel it's right to enter an application for detective at this time."

Her pulse skittered, palms damp, her throat dry. She wanted to kill him - Richard Castle - she really did. But there was nothing left to do.

"Why's that, Officer Beckett?"

"It - it reflects poorly on this station to-"

"Why don't you let me decide how your making detective reflects on my station, Officer."

She shut her mouth, swallowed.

"You're dismissed," Captain Montgomery said.

She had no recourse but to turn and leave his office, her feet dragging as she walked the short length of the hall to the elevators, her eyes unable to avoid the bullpen just beyond the wire mesh cage.

Homicide.

She ached for it; she needed it. Her mother's death was a gaping maw inside Beckett, and only opening that case, investigating it like it should've been done in the first place would assuage the beast that gnawed on her insides.

Detective.

Rick Castle was seriously screwing her.

And not even in the way she imagined.

Imagined?

No. No imagining. She wasn't - no.

* * *

While Alexis camped out on the couch with her book, Castle grabbed his cell phone and hid himself in his study. No, no, he was doing no hiding - he had merely ensconced himself. That was it. Much better.

He called Weldon.

The district attorney answered sounding harried, but he let out a booming reply to Castle's greeting.

"My man. How's it coming with your lady friend?"

"How old are you?" Castle winced. "Geriatric? No one says that-"

"Avoidance is a classic technique of the guilty," Weldon said. Castle could almost see the amused smirk on the man's face.

"She's pissed at me."

"I told you it was a bad idea."

"You said it was a brilliant idea," he groused. "You said it was-"

"What I said was that it was brilliant for us. Good press for the NYPD for once, and the mayor and I look golden. By the way, keep this between us, but I'm so gunning for his job."

Castle laughed but heard the serious silence on the other end and stopped. "Okay. Well. I need you to take it back."

"Take it back? Hell no. I want that job. Trust me, Ricky, I am going to be mayor-"

"Not _that_," he sighed. "The ride-along."

"Tag-along you mean."

"You've got to ask the mayor to cancel it. Or - or make it not a priority. I think I made a big mistake."

"Which part?" Weldon laughed.

"The part where I requested that she be made detective and so now it looks like she's sleeping her way to the top."

"Ah, that." Weldon was silent for a long time. "That's a bell I can't unring, Rick."

"Shit," he moaned, pressed his hand to his face. "What was I thinking?"

"You were thinking you liked her, you're hot for her, and you wanted a legitmate excuse to follow her around all day and _not_ be arrested for stalking."

"Thanks," he said dryly. "I'm not only stupid, but I'm also a pervert."

"That about sums it up," Weldon said, already sounding distracted, mind on other things, bigger cases.

"Weldon. You have to try. Call the mayor-"

"And say what? Never mind about that woman making detective? Writer's changed his mind?"

"I haven't exactly - just - I need it to not look like I'm trying to get in her pants, Weldon. Help me out here."

"But you _are_ trying to get in her pants."

"Irrelevant. If I ruin her career, I am permanently never getting into her pants." He winced even as he said it, because already she was. . .more than that. Not a shallow pool, Castle.

"I thought this seemed a pretty desperate gambit. You are usually much more debonair than this, my friend."

"Weldon. I got no game when it comes to Beckett."

"So I'm seeing. Look, I'll call the mayor if you really want me to. But I don't think you do. You don't need him taking too close a look at your girl. You call back and he's gonna start to wonder why you've singled her out, why you're changing your mind, what's going on over there. You don't want to do that to the precinct she works out of or the-"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "I got it. I understand. Don't call."

"What are you going to do?"

He grit his teeth and tried not to growl. "I don't know. I'll just - figure something out."


	13. Chapter 13

**Vice**

* * *

He found himself making extra.

She'd already said that she wouldn't be able to come, that work would probably have her out on the street again, but when time came to prepare dinner, he couldn't help making more than they could eat.

Pork chops with mandarin oranges glazed on top, green beans, and brown rice. Alexis set the table chattering nonstop about the book, which she still clutched under her arm, and he tried not to run his conversation with Weldon over and over in his head.

But he saw no out, no quick fix for what he'd done.

There was also no way she was coming, was there?

He'd ruined that.

"Hey, Dad, can I please - just this once - read while I eat?" Aleixs begged, both hands together as if praying, nearly getting to her knees at his feet.

He laughed and tugged on her hair. "Sure, pumpkin. But don't promise that it's just this once. You know you'll be asking me next week too."

"That could be true," she said, but she was squirming happily in her seat now, one hand open with the book propped up.

"Make sure you eat before it gets cold," he added. But she was already lost in the world of coonhounds and raccoon hunting.

Strange. He'd never have picked it for her. She'd always been such a pony and puppies kind of girl - stories about fairies and magic and time travel thrown in with a healthy dose of knight in shining armor action so that her father could stand it. Princess Bride kinds of stories.

Raccoon hunting?

He hadn't seen it coming.

Castle sat down at the corner from her, tapped her book just to get the brief flicker of her attention; he was graced with a huge smile, blue eyes brilliant but focused elsewhere. He grinned back and put his fork into his pile of rice, tried to force it down.

He wasn't all that hungry. It was late, later than seven, and he knew he'd been putting it off, just to delay the moment when he sat down alone.

Or well, not alone. Alexis was here, but she was in her book. His mother had laid down the rule that there was no reading at the table when they ate together, but he'd hated it. He'd needed the books, the words, the stories, and she'd kept him from those. He'd resented her for it, in his more juvenile years, and when Alexis had first asked him - at six - if she could read at the table. . .

He'd said yes, of course. Because he knew how vital the book could be in that moment, how her whole mind and being could be trapped inside a world on a page.

But it certainly made him, stuck out here, rather lonely without her.

He was a big boy; he could deal.

* * *

For the sake of her own mental health, Beckett resisted the temptation of a dinner she hadn't cooked with a family that wasn't hers. Sounded like it should be easy, right? It wasn't. She found herself at home, staring into her empty fridge, and trying to rationalize showing up at his door.

Standing invitation.

No.

His daughter was looking at Beckett like the best big sister she'd never had, and Castle himself was running hot and cold - or maybe that was her - Kate. She wanted him and then she was frustrated to the extreme by him.

He'd basically ruined her career, hadn't he? By _making_ it. By calling in a favor with the DA or the mayor or whoever so that Castle could have his own way. And yet - hadn't she said she'd do anything (ethical) to make detective? That she would be the best, train the hardest, put in the work until she got her shield? Castle hadn't done her any favors, not really - he'd just given her a reputation.

And what did she care about her reputation?

Beckett slammed the fridge door shut and leaned back against it, closing her eyes. Nothing, nothing to eat, nothing to do about her damn job, and nothing to keep him away from her.

He knew too much; he was too complicated and required too much attention and needed. . .her.

He'd called in her IOU and now she did - owe him that was. She owed him for paying over a hundred thousand dollars for her father's rehab treatment, and she owed him for being the one who was there when she wasn't. He'd talked to her father, kept him calm, drove him to The Dunes, made it happen.

It was everything to her; her father was all she had left.

And if she reneged on this deal, then she - in essence - said her father meant little to her.

She had to do it. Let him ride out with her on cases if she - when she - became a detective. Let him put his hands all over the crime scene, screw up interrogations, get taken hostage during unfriendly arrests - worst case scenarios played out again and again.

No. No, there had to be another way. Had to. If she could just think.

What did he want most? He wanted-

her.

He wanted her.

And while, no, she wasn't sleeping with him as some form of payment, there were ways of giving him what he wanted. Without letting him into the precinct.

He wanted to base a character off of her, sure, but he wanted more than that. He wanted to know her, wanted to know too much, but she could sacrifice some dignity, some of her naturally reserved personality if it meant appeasing him, fulfilling her promise.

Standing invitation, right?

Beckett stood up straighter, surveyed her apartment as a way of slowing down her brain, making herself think it through.

But there was nothing else to be done.

She'd been backed into a corner.

* * *

When the doorbell rang, Castle stood up from the couch and dumped his daughter's feet off his lap. She giggled, but didn't stop reading her book, and he made for the door with some of his dark mood still lingering.

Dinner was uneventful.

He needed a change; he really did. He needed to figure his it out and get his life together, stop acting like his daughter was still a toddler and he had to prove he could be a good father. They had a rhythm now; they worked. His daughter was thriving - he knew that.

Maybe he should let Gina wear him down, take him out somewhere fancy, use her never-subtle charms to start something. Alexis liked her well enough, and his daughter was quickly - too quickly - approaching the age where she'd need a woman to talk to.

He should just - do something different.

He'd thought that switching to a new character, someone as spicy and determined and haunted as Kate Beckett would get his ass in gear, make him interested in life again - his own life. He'd put so much on hold trying to make sure Alexis had at least a father, and more than that, a parent who could be everything-

"Beckett," he said, struck dumb by the sight of her beyond his door.

She had a large hiking backpack slung over her shoulder, and her hair looked softer than usual, like the spikes had lost their gel or she'd run her fingers through it one too many times. Jeans. Soft brown sweater that clung to her curves.

"You said standing invitation, but I didn't realize it meant I'd have to literally stand."

She was - she was teasing him?

"Come in," he said, stepping aside and staring at her as she walked on in.

She dropped the backpack to the floor and all he could think, with his dirty mind, was that she'd packed a bag to stay the night.

Hell, yeah.

"I brought books for Alexis."

Oh.

She must have seen his crestfallen face, because she quirked an eyebrow at him and sighed, shaking her head.

"No, Castle. Just books."

To cover his embarrassment, his massive and uncomfortable embarrassment, he turned back to the couch. "Alexis. Kate is here. She brought you some books, so get your nose out of that one and be polite."

Alexis was already scrambling up from the couch and coming for them. "Kate! You brought me more books - are these your favorites when you were young as me?"

He winced at his daughter's phrasing, but Beckett was kneeling down on the floor, opening up the backpack. Once unzipped, the depths revealed a huge assortment piled haphazardly, like she'd dumped them inside without looking.

Alexis dove straight in, her hands greedy, and Castle cleared his throat loudly until she looked up. He raised an eyebrow at her and she withdrew her hands, flushing as she looked over at Kate.

But Beckett waved her hand to the bag. "No, go for it. They're yours now."

Alexis cast him a begging look and he nodded, but she did slow down, tried to look a little less unseemly.

"You'd think I don't ever buy the kid books," he muttered, drawing a laugh from Beckett. He stared at her for a second, the slash of her smiling mouth, the caught-unawares shine in her eyes. She blinked but didn't drop her gaze, and the sight of her still on her knees in front of him was enough to make him back up, lean awkwardly against the couch for support.

She rose and came to settle beside him - still with a few feet of space between them - but she crossed her arms and watched Alexis go through her old books.

"I have - extra," he said finally, rubbing a thumb over the edge of his couch in an effort to keep from touching her.

"Extra?"

"Dinner."

The air whooshed out of her; he saw her shoulders hunch. Had she not expected it?

"Dinner," she repeated and stood up from the couch. "I wanted to talk to you, Castle."

He felt the snag of a fabric staple against his thumb and stood as well. "Okay. But dinner first. It's good, if I do say so myself. And I can tell you haven't eaten."

She hesitated, but he was already pulling her towards his kitchen.

He couldn't give her time to think.

Or himself time to accidentally, stupidly, kiss her again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Vice**

* * *

He made it damn hard for Beckett to tell him _You have to stop this_ while she was eating his food. Pork chops like she was ten years old again and eating around the dinner table with her parents. Only instead of apple sauce on top, he'd spiced it up with mandarin oranges.

And it was good. (And no, she was not thinking about herself and Castle in the same seats at the table as her parents, her ten year old place the one that Alexis now occupied. Not one bit. No.)

After Beckett had taken her first bite, Alexis had abandoned the watch-Beckett-eat-brigade and jumped up to use her father's computer in the study. She was looking up the books that Kate had brought. She'd said something about wanting to know everything, and from the conversation in the car about Red Fern, Kate figured she was trying to prepare herself for dead dogs.

Castle had stayed at the table with her, staring creepily. He watched the way she held her fork, unconsciously seemed to mimic it, followed the track of her food to her mouth, and even - jeez - the swallow of her throat.

And it wasn't sexual; he was just. . .studying.

"Castle." She lowered her bite of brown rice and eyed him across the table from her. But she didn't get a chance to tell him to stop.

"How was your day?" he interrupted, his elbows on the smooth wood, his shoulders hunched as he leaned in towards her, still watching, but now with a little more man in his eyes, a little less writer.

"I - my day. Fine." She frowned and tried to get back on track. But the serious armor she'd been carrying around with her had been cracked by the sudden image he projected - mom home from work and the kid in the other room, dinner waiting, him wanting to know how her day had been.

Oh shit, no. No.

"Castle, we need to talk about this ride-along thing," she got out, trying not to choke on her own stupid imagination.

"I get it," he said quietly and pressed his palms flat to the table. "I never expected it to look quite so - well, that can only be good for my reputation - I am a well-known rake - but I understand that you can't take that hit. I called Weldon-"

"The DA," she said flatly, but her heart was skittering around like a broken toy. Rake? Oh jeez, what genre were they in? She wasn't looking to be seduced by a scoundrel.

"I tried to make him take it back, but it would only do more damage, Beckett. I tried, really, but he said-"

"You asked him to _take it back_?" She gaped at him. Wait. What? She'd never - in a million years - expected him to actually. . .try.

"I did. It didn't fly. Weldon is a good friend of the mayor and I was just - honestly, I was expecting the mayor to approve me as a civilian. . .I don't know. Peacekeeper? Do we have those?"

"No," she said, startled by the laughter that wanted out. Honestly, peacekeeper?

"Oh," he sighed, crestfallen. "But I didn't - it didn't occur to me that the mayor would take this to be some kind of - publicity thing? Weldon says it's good press and the NYPD needs good press."

"That's for sure," she muttered. "But I can't - you can't go about it like this, Castle. I can't be promoted to detective knowing that the reason is because you're behind it."

"But I'm not. Not really. Weldon said the mayor asked the head guy at the 12th about it first - and your boss, he was the one who said you'd make it without a problem."

Another issue she couldn't get into - that the Captain had taken her in, groomed her. She was going to look like-

"Does it really matter, Kate?"

She pressed the napkin to her lips, tried to think. "How people I work with see me? Yes, it does."

"I don't understand. You know the truth, so-"

"I rely on those people to have my back, Castle." She folded her hands in front of her, looked him in the eye. "I risk my life, they risk theirs, and if they don't trust me, or respect me, or if they even just don't think I deserve my promotion, then what happens when a perp draws down on me-"

"Perp," he murmured, and she could see him rolling the word around on his tongue, in his head, savoring it. "Good word. What else?"

"Castle. Focus. I can't have people I work with not trust me."

"You'll get their trust - earn it just like anyone else. You're good."

"You don't know that," she huffed.

"I don't want to endanger you - that's not what I'm looking to do. And I tried - I did try to fix it, Kate, but I don't know what else to do."

She rubbed at her forehead, pressed her thumb under her eyebrow to give herself that sharp stab of pain that released the mounting tension.

"Just - don't want it. Don't want to ride-along. Call him and tell him you changed your mind."

"I already told you that wouldn't work."

"Make it work," she hissed.

"Plus, I _do_ want to ride-along with you. I want to-"

"What if we can compromise?" she asked, lifting her head to gauge him, measure his insistence on having his own way. "Can we do that instead?"

He looked suspicious but willing. "Compromise how?"

"I can - I can," she stumbled but came up with nothing. "I don't know. How do you write a new character?"

"I have to have the environment right - the details. Where you go on your breaks, the layout of the floor, how the workflow goes, who answers the phone. And. I need a character sketch. Elements that make up the person. What makes you. . .you."

Shit, no. No. She didn't - couldn't afford to have this man anywhere near her workplace with that intensity, with the way he studied and analyzed. But was having him near her own self any safer?

"What about this?" he said suddenly, and his eyes were eager when she finally met them. "You work with me as a consultant. On the book. I'll introduce your character into a Derrick Storm novel, and then do a kind of spin-off series. See where it goes."

"A consultant?" she said. A spin-off _series_?

"Yeah, that means I get to pick your brain about being a cop, about how a precinct works, the politics. You come here or I go to your place, do interviews. But Kate, honestly, you're going to have to give me a week observing on the job. There are things you know but don't know you know-"

"I can't," she shook her head. "I can't do that. Castle."

"Sure you can. Just for a week. Just to see. We won't worry about when you make detective - we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. And I can call the mayor and say we've worked out a deal where I get unlimited access to you-"

"What?!"

"I mean your brain, your information, and all I need is to ride-along with you as a uniform. A week, Kate. In the squad car or whatever you're doing-"

"What if I'm standing out on the street corner, Castle?"

"I can. . .I can figure something out-"

"You can't-"

"You have back-up, right? I mean, you're not alone out there. That'd be stupid. So wherever those guys are-"

"In a sweaty van with no windows and no air for eight hours?"

"Ah, well. Okay. Yes. Sweaty van. I can do that."

"Castle," she sighed, shoulders slumping. Like she wanted him picking the brains of the guys she worked with, sitting in close confines with his writer's imagination and their all-too-dirty ones. She'd never hear the end of it.

A spin-off series?

"Please."

She startled, her eyes flying to his, completely undone by the begging. Begging. He was begging her to let him - what? Come play at work?

"This isn't a game," she said.

"I know that," he said, equally quiet. "Kate, how do you think I developed my other characters? Guessing? I was there. I did my time."

His other characters. Derrick Storm. Clara Strike. "Clara Strike is CIA," she said, her cheeks burning.

He only stared at her, neither confirming nor denying. "And you're an NYPD cop."

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about his eagerness, tried not to feel horrified and aroused at the same time. Interested. She was interested. The idea of him writing a character based on her-

"Just give me a chance," he said, his voice firm, even soothing, like he could take care of everything if she just let him.

"A whole series?" she said, pressing her fingers into the ridge of her brow.

"A spin-off. I need a change."

"Why? I like Storm," she said, then pressed her hand to her mouth.

He laughed. "Yeah, I know. You're a fan. That's so cool. But Derrick is getting old. He only thinks in one way, and honestly, I think my writing style is suffering-"

"That's for sure," she muttered.

"Hey now."

She shrugged but the weight of what she was agreeing to here had begun to settle over her. "Castle. One condition."

He perked up; he looked like he was holding his breath. Jeez.

"You do what I say. Everything, every time. No questions."

He nodded, too eager, too willing.

"I'm serious about this. You can ride-along with me for a week, but when I say stay in the car, I mean you don't move your ass from my car."

"I got it."

"You can't blunder out-"

"I don't blunder-"

"-you do-"

"I'll have you know, I'm quick on my feet-"

"So long as you keep those feet behind me - always behind me, Castle. You are never first. You never enter a building where I serve a warrant-"

"Wait, you said one condition-"

"Castle." She narrowed her eyes at him. He was going to push it, wasn't he? Every step, he was going to fight her.

He was grinning, so widely, so _cute_, and his hair was falling over his forehead, his shoulders thick, and his muscles bunched and appealing under his dress shirt, and she wanted to keep from being charmed by him, she really did, but she couldn't.

"You do what I say, you hear me?" she growled, trying to ignore it. "You follow my orders."

"I've never been the submissive before," he said, eyes hooded. "Be gentle, Kate. My safe word is apples."

The burn through her body made her fists clench. She didn't back down from the challenge in his gaze though. She couldn't. Not if she was going to remain on top.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, you'll be screaming apples before your week is up."


	15. Chapter 15

**Vice**

* * *

Castle sent Alexis up to bed with the bag of books in her arms; she took the stairs slowly, one by one, her eyes still riveted on the treasure within.

"Kate, this one-" she said, pausing halfway up to call back to them. "Clone Catcher? Is that like in the future?"

Castle rolled his eyes and started for the stairs. "Bed-"

"Yeah, in the future," Beckett answered, following him. "But it's a mystery. It's like the kid version of a noir detective novel."

Castle shot her a startled look, surprised she'd read noir detective fiction for kids, and surprised she knew the nuances of the genre.

"I know what that is," Alexis said from the stairs, glancing down at the book in her hands. "It's hardboiled, right, Dad?"

"Right."

Now Beckett was shooting him a look, and he grinned back at her, then jerked his head towards his daughter.

"Bed, pumpkin. Now."

"Can I read-"

"No. You've read all day. You have school in the morning."

"Maybe just for a little bit?" she pushed, lifting a foot to the next stop like she was willing to compromise, willing to give a little ground if he did.

He was entirely too soft on her, really. But she was usually so strictly disciplined with herself, worried about school and grades and friends and really, everything. If she wanted to cut loose a little bit, he felt like he was supposed to encourage that, keep her well-rounded.

"You can read in bed with a flashlight. For an hour," he gave in.

She squealed and bounced on the step like she was going to come running back down to him. Castle held out a staying hand.

"Don't play on the stairs. Up you go. Say goodnight to Beckett."

"Good night, Beckett! Kate! Thank you for all my books," she called, grabbing the bag and climbing the stairs now.

Castle turned back to Beckett and saw the flash of a look on her face that she tried to wipe away - but not in time. He saw it, and he saw what it was.

She was surprised by him. Not just that he'd taught his daughter what hardboiled crime novels were called, but his parenting, how he treated Alexis, the relationship they had.

She'd known that, of course; she'd been in the car on that trip to The Dunes. So why had she looked so stunned, and why the need to cover it up?

"Dad!"

He huffed and turned back to the stairs to see Alexis peeking around the corner. "What, baby bird?"

She blushed and scowled at him, her eyes darting to Beckett and back to him. Oh? So she was embarrassed by _baby bird_ but not by pumpkin? Ammunition for later.

"Dad, I forgot to brush my teeth. I gotta do that first."

"Yes, yes, brush your teeth. Then go to bed. You don't need to warn me."

"Okay, okay. I'm going." She disappeared again and he shook his head, turned back to Beckett and saw it again.

This time he'd been allowed to see more of it. It wasn't just him - she was surprised at herself. At herself.

What did that mean?

* * *

"You followed the real-life Clara Strike?" she murmured, lifting an eyebrow at him.

She was sharply attractive - a hard beauty that could cut a man. Castle swallowed his sip of wine and tried to let it burn his mind clear. He needed to tread lightly with the issue of Clara Strike; his bitterness was still high and his sense of betrayal entirely too pathetic.

Plus there was that whole state secrets thing he'd signed.

"I can't-"

"You can't _say_?" she laughed, dropping her own glass of wine to her lap. "Shut the front door."

He grinned, too pleased to have impressed her but unable to help that either. Perhaps another glass of wine had been a bad idea.

"She. . .exists."

"Holy shit."

And suddenly the image of Sofia Turner burned so brightly, so clearly in his mind's eye that he had to turn his head, stare into space as he struggled to put that flame out. It was over, whether he'd wanted it to be or not, and laying her over the vision of Beckett before him was more than wrong, it was sacrilege.

To Beckett.

And when he realized that he was trying to keep Beckett pure of anything else, free of Sofia, his chest tightened. But she was still waiting for an explanation.

"She was a muse," he said finally, then turned back to her and hoped that it didn't show in his-

Shit.

She was frozen on the couch; her spiky hair had fallen to frame her cheeks in that brittle and dangerously beautiful way.

She was nothing like Sofia Turner - she had a bone-deep integrity that would never shake. She would do what was right even if it cost her.

"Is that what you called her, call it - a muse?" She blinked and some of that intensity washed away, but he felt it catch in his lungs like a burr.

She was hurt by it.

"A muse," he said quietly, unable to deny what it was. What it could be for them as well. "Yes. Inspiration. It's never struck me quite this hard before."

"Now?" she said, jerking her head back, biting her bottom lip. "No. I-"

"Yes."

She took a stuttering breath in, stared at him. "Don't call me your _muse._"

"I wrote two chapters this evening. Only took me three hours. I've never done it quite that fast before. It just comes."

"Wrote two chapters of what?"

He tilted his head and lifted his arm to the back of the couch, his fingers so very close to the spike of her hair. He wanted to touch it, see if it was as fierce as the look in her eyes right then.

"What do you think, Kate?"

She held her wine glass in a vice grip, but she wouldn't look away from him. "Of me."

"Yeah. Introduction only. But yeah."

"You wrote about me for three hours today?"

He waited, and the panicked labor of her chest seemed to peak and then taper off; she took a too-big gulp of the alcohol and firmly set her glass on the table, the movement designed to give her time to think.

He knew what some of her tells were now. The way she lengthened a pause in conversation by scraping her hand through her hair, giving her that extra moment to think, to scramble an action plan.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," she began, glancing up at him finally and licking her bottom lip before biting it. "I don't think-"

He lifted his hand and snagged a piece of errant hair, felt the crisp edge of a fresh cut and whatever product she used. Kate had gone still again, but it wasn't the stillness of prey, of the cornered rabbit. No, it was the stillness of a predator, watching and waiting, seeking a weakness, a moment to spring.

He wouldn't give her one.

Castle leaned in, threading his fingers in her hair to hold her, and pressed his already open mouth to hers, touched his tongue to her lips.

She sucked in a breath and let him inside that wet heat at the same moment; he stroked his thumb at her jaw and caressed the edges of her frown with his kiss, dove deeper to take from her mouth.

And then she had him pressed back against the couch, her hands sliding down his shirt for the loose tails, fingers tucking up under and finding bare skin at his waist, his stomach, her hot and quick hands, and he groaned into her aggressive touch.

She nipped at his lip, drew back only enough to speak against his wanting mouth. "Is this how Clara Strike. . .inspired you too?"

Fuck.

* * *

She wasn't surprised when his head jerked back, staring at her, her hands still caught under his shirt between them. Their chests brushed as they breathed, both stunned, and maybe that had been her intention, scare him off, insult him-

"I swear. My intentions are pure. Research."

His thumb brushed under the curve of her breast and she stiffened, her heart pounding madly, caught by his gaze. She realized her thighs had slipped between his on the couch, and she raised an eyebrow.

"This is how you research?"

He gave a laugh, but he was still snared by her, or her by him, she didn't know.

"Seems so, doesn't it?" he breathed out, and his mouth was barely moving but she wanted it. More of it.

"What are we doing?" she asked, except his hand made her scattered, the feel of his fingers fitting into the intercostal space at her ribs like a brand.

"You said it. Research." He stroked his fingers against her skin and she felt her head bob, her lips brush his entirely on accident, the rebellious skirmish of her desire fighting against her sanity.

Castle's mouth parted under hers, his other hand gripped the back of her thigh and tugged her leg higher; she bit back the moan and rose up over him, her hair swinging at her ears, just brushing her collar. He reached up and played with it, his other hand spreading broad and wide at her torso, stabilizing her there.

"Am I just another in a long line of muses?" she murmured.

He stroked at her skin in answer; she wondered if this was right, or even wise, but the play of his fingers at her neck, her sternum, made her body heavy, sinking towards his.

He lifted to meet her, sliding his arms around her as their mouths met. She wanted him and she wanted to not worry about her job; she wanted to keep him so satisfied here that he never came looking for her there.

So if he was using her for inspiration, she was using him as well.

* * *

He didn't want to stop, didn't want to slow down, didn't want her hands to leave him.

But he did want-

more.

And not on his couch.

"Kate," he murmured, couldn't stop himself even as he ought to, knew he ought to, caught at her neck with his teeth. She shuddered and clutched his shoulders, her knees squeezing his hips, and rolled into him.

And suddenly it was more than just making out on his couch. It was - hot, and right, and necessary, and his words were leaving him.

"Where's your bed, Castle?" she said, her head angling against his ear, her tongue at that soft spot there.

"Bedroom," he answered, and put her away, gaze burning down her body, the hard and glittering lines of her eyes, the ripe tilt to her mouth.

"Castle," she said, her hand trailing up his unbuttoned shirt and into his hair, tightening in a fist, pulling his mouth to hers. "Now."

He wanted a promise first. He wanted all kinds of promises that he knew she couldn't make, but surely just one.

"You'll stay?" he whispered, felt her body's shock as he said it. The curl of her arm, the release of her fingers, the withdrawal of her hips.

"What?" she breathed out. "Stay where?"

"The night. Stay the night. Let me make you breakfast in the morning-"

"You have a daughter-"

"I know that."

She huffed and pushed him away, her hands on his chest. "Castle."

"My daughter is more in love with you than I am," he said, and shit, that was the wrong thing to say, entirely wrong.

She jerked off his lap and stood, her hand scraped through her hair, her feet backing up even as she wouldn't look at him. The place where she'd been was already hollowed out, misshapen, like she belonged and had been ripped out. He stood as well, wondered if there was a way to still-

But no. If she wouldn't stay. . .if she was going to ditch him in the middle of the night for some undercover assignment and never even call to let him know she was alive-

He didn't need that. He didn't want that. No matter how good the sex, how hot her body, how much he craved those aggressive hands on him. No matter how. . .inspiring he found her, he couldn't do that again.

He wanted her to be here in the morning.

She was moving stiffly for the door.

"Kate," he said, and he could tell his voice was strong despite the way his chest ached with every step she took away from him.

Her head turned at his tone, or maybe it was just the conditioned response to her name, but she actually met his eyes, hers struck and wounded in a way he'd not have thought possible.

"Research, Castle." She swallowed and grabbed her coat from the back of the chair, holding it at her chest. "It was just research."

He'd forgotten, for a moment, how tragedy haunted her eyes. He'd forgotten, when she'd kissed him, that she had a history he couldn't compete with.

"It won't be enough," he said. "And you know it."

She turned her head, eyes averted, and he used that moment to take her coat from her fingers. She startled and looked as if she wanted to snatch it back, but he only held it out for her, ready with the sleeves.

Kate stared at him a moment, her lip caught between her teeth, and then she turned, slid one arm in, then the other, slowly, an agonizing production. He smoothed her collar down, even found the guts to untuck the hair that was caught, his thumb on her neck and stilling.

She didn't move.

So he leaned in and pressed his open mouth to the skin of her neck, breathing in her scent, her musk, her disappointment. He touched his tongue to her spine and felt her ripple of desire, awareness, but she was already sliding away from his grasp and out his door.


	16. Chapter 16

**Vice**

* * *

Beckett slept hard, dreaming deeply of dark shadows and wide mouths, and then woke with her shoulders aching and her ribs tender for no reason she could understand. She stepped into her shower only half conscious and hissed at the sting of hot water to her skin.

After washing her hair, smoothing in conditioner, she found herself shaving her legs carefully, angling the razor at the right angles for her patella, the back of her knee, the hard ride of her ankle.

And then she paused, heart pounding, and woke up completely, realizing what she was doing.

She was _not_ having sex with Richard Castle.

* * *

She was having sex with Richard Castle.

It was the only way to make this all stop.

Seriously, she needed it out of her head. If she could stop thinking about him, the press of his thighs, the way his wide palm spread at her ribs, the slow glide of his tongue-

She knew that sex wouldn't fix anything, but it might help. Right? Surely it would help. She needed him to stop visiting her every night in her dreams, and maybe just show up on her doorstep and-

She had to stop.

She was at work, and she had to stop this right now.

She had to put it out of her mind.

* * *

Beckett hadn't called him back all week.

And he knew he was being pushy, but after that night - dinner and books and his daughter and the couch and her empty goodbye - he needed her to call him back.

He just wanted to talk to her. If he just had a chance to tell her - anything, everything, explain himself - he knew he could sway her, win her over. He could romance her or charm her or say whatever it was she needed to hear from him that would make her stay.

Alexis brought home an A on her make-up spelling test, a perfect score with a smiley face on top which he stuck to the fridge. They made stir fry together and she got to pick the ingredients for their concoction, choosing baby corn and chicken first, and then getting into the swing of it and plopping in tofu his mother had left, cherry tomatoes, a handful of sesame seeds, and even broccoli, which she hated. She did nix the idea of stir frying pretzels, and the marshmallows, and even the peanut butter, but Castle knew he was wearing her down.

They doused it in teriyaki sauce, he added lima beans when she wasn't looking, and then they took their plates to the table.

A week.

It was showing on Alexis too. She had another book with her at the table to read, this one Caddie Woodlawn, and she was enamored of it. She kept begging him to put her hair in braids like Caddie, but he didn't know how. He tried looking it up, called his mother one night, but braiding hair wasn't something he could learn from directions.

He needed to see someone do it. He'd made an appointment at a salon over on Fifth that would hopefully teach him when he took Alexis in next week. She wanted bangs, she said, but they needed to be layered. Whatever that meant.

He had just picked up his fork, giving her the go ahead to read at the table, when someone knocked on the door.

His heart flipped in his chest and Alexis jolted to attention.

"Dad."

He gave her a warning look and slowly got up from the table.

"Dad. Standing invite."

"Hush, Alexis. It's probably Gram."

"Oh, right. She was going to come over and braid my hair."

Actually, not anymore she wasn't. But he hadn't told Alexis that because he wanted the salon trip to be a surprise, and so now, who was at his door?

He flipped the deadbolt and twisted the knob, opened it wide.

To Beckett.

She gave him a slow perusal, hunger in her eyes, and he couldn't even speak.

"Is it time to eat?" she asked.

* * *

"I'd forgotten this one was in there," Beckett said, trailing her fingers over Alexis's book. "I loved it. And she has hair like yours."

Alexis beamed. Absolutely adoring and soaking it in and falling all over Kate for her attention. Jeez, Castle hadn't been kidding when he told her that his daughter was more in love with her than he was.

Oh shit. What was she doing here at dinner time? She should've waited until much later. She knew bedtime was-

And even _that_, knowing Alexis's bedtime? That was a bad, bad sign.

"I love this book," Alexis said reverently. "It's even better than Red Fern. She's a pioneer."

Kate pushed another bite of their strange stir fry into her mouth, glancing up just in time to see Castle watching her. None of the writer in this gaze, this was all hot and aroused male.

This was a mistake. A huge mistake. She wasn't having sex with him; he had a kid, and a home, and a life, and he was this bizarre combination of completely immature and fatherly wise, and she didn't know how to handle that.

She just couldn't.

She'd eat dinner and then she'd leave.

"Did you know," she said slowly, tapping the book. "This is based off the writer's own family? Her grandmother told stories about when she was a girl living in Wisconsin near the Indians."

"They're real people?"

"Only partly. She drew on their experiences to create Caddie, but of course, the dialogue and plot can't be completely accurate. It's still fiction."

"Like the character I'm basing on you," Castle interrupted.

She jerked her head up to meet his eyes, so dark in the golden evening light of his loft. She could barely make out their color, saw only the way he watched her, burning and intense.

"You're writing about Kate?"

"I am. She's here to tell me stories about being a cop. So when I write it in my book, just like Caddie, I'll get it right."

"But the plot and dialogue won't be real, just fiction," Alexis rephrased, squirming in her chair and finally getting up on her knees. "Hey, Dad. Are you going to have bad guys come get her?"

"Of course. There's always bad guys. Probably a murder," he said, wriggling his eyebrows at his daughter and making an evil laugh.

She shivered and sank back on her feet, grinning at him. Kate couldn't help the shiver of her own, tried to remind herself that was why she had to be here. She'd avoided him for a week, but she couldn't do that if she wanted to keep him out of her precinct.

He'd already proved he had no qualms about just showing up.

"That'd be so cool, right Kate?" Alexis picked up a stray piece of chicken with her fingers and popped it into her mouth.

"Fork, Alexis," Castle interrupted.

"What's Kate's name in the book?"

He was hesitating, and if Kate was reading that right, she was _not_ going to like it.

"Is it Caddie?" Alexis shoved back on her chair and hopped down, then climbed back up.

"Pumpkin, sit still and eat. And no, it's not Caddie."

She fiddled with her fork. "What then?"

"Eat and I'll tell you her first name."

"Why don't you tell us now?" Beckett said, raising an eyebrow at him and crossing her arms, her dinner forgotten.

"Ah. Well. It's Nikki."

"Nikki _what_?" she insisted, eyeing him as he quite clearly didn't want to say.

"Ah, well-"

"Nikki what, Dad?"

"Nikki Heat."

Her jaw dropped. "Castle."

"What?"

"That's a - that's not a name."

"Sure it is. Nikki is ranked 68th of the top 100-"

"I'm talking about her last name, Castle."

"What?"

"Don't play coy."

"What does coy mean?" Alexis asked, her head swiveling back and forth between them.

Beckett glanced down at her, shut her mouth, fumed at Castle silently. He grinned because he must know she was trapped, and he enjoyed it, didn't he?

"What does coy mean?" Alexis said louder.

"Your dad's trying to be cute," she said finally.

Alexis tilted her head towards her father, then back to Beckett.

"He's better than cute. He's ruggedly handsome. Everyone says so."

Beckett groaned and slapped her hand to her forehead, heard him laughing at her. She lifted her head and snagged her cloth napkin, threw it at his face. He caught it with one hand, grinned at her.

"You heard the kid. Ruggedly handsome."

"Alexis, how much did he pay you to say that?"

"It was free!" Aleixs said, and then frowned, a sly look coming into her eyes. "You mean Dad should pay me for stuff like that." She grinned now, wicked and daring. "Pay up."

"No way," Castle said, shaking his head. "Freewill offering. Now eat two more bites of your dinner and then go brush your teeth, head for bed."

Alexis crammed the food into her mouth so fast that Beckett was certain she'd choke, and then she grabbed her book and flew up the stairs. At the top, she called out to them.

"Hey, can I come back down for you to read me a chapter?"

"Alexis, we have company."

"It's just Kate. I bet Kate wants to hear a chapter too."

Beckett turned a calculating smile on him. "Oh yes. I would love to hear a chapter."

* * *

She thought he'd use goofy voices.

She'd thought that Castle having an audience while reading a bedtime story would be wickedly embarrassing for him, that she could regain some measure of control.

But, no. It was just him, his smooth, low voice dancing at the edges of her senses, dragging up memories.

Beckett pressed her lips together and felt the hard knob of Alexis's spine digging into her shins, her shoulder blades like wings at Kate's knees. Beckett had drawn her legs up onto the couch, unconsciously protective maybe, but Alexis had crawled up with her and leaned against her as she waited for her father.

Castle sat in the middle of the couch, his daughter's feet in his lap, and read the book's first chapter. The thing about listening to Castle read wasn't that it was her favorite author giving a rumbling voice to the adventures of a pioneer tomboy, but that if she closed her eyes, it was her own father reading to her in the weak, yellow light of her bedroom at home.

A home she didn't even have anymore.

And yet, here it was. _Home._

"'Several Indian canoes were drawn up on shore in the shelter of a little cove and beyond them in a clearing the Indians moved to and fro about a fire." Castle had a hand draped on Alexis's ankles, and after a few minutes, as if to keep it fair, Alexis shifted and laid her cheek against her father's shoulder, watching the words as they passed on the page.

It left Kate alone in the corner of their couch, and she hooked her arms around her drawn up knees and put her chin on them, felt miserably ten years old again.

She'd planned on seducing him, planned on greeting him with her body and insisting he stay away from her job.

But then - all this.

She was aching for her father and she couldn't distinguish what was healthy for her any longer. It had been a mistake to come here, but it couldn't be wrong, not when Castle's daughter wanted to talk about books and Castle's own voice reminded her just how good and kind and wonderful her father had always been - and could be again, might be, might actually, really be.

She was starting to hope. And that hope was cracking her open.

"That was the strange beginning of a friendship, for a kind of friendship it was, that had grown up between Caddie and Indian John."

Castle paused in the reading and her head came up, her eyes on him. He met her gaze and then continued, murmuring the words now, directing them purposefully towards his daughter as if he'd caught the meaning as well and didn't want to push her further. "Caddie and her red-gold curls-"

Friendship. Could she do that? Richard Castle, best-selling novelist, was going to base a character on her and sell his books and drag her into his world - not the world she'd assumed he had (women and money and fast cars) but this one.

_Home._

Alexis lifted her head when her father got towards the end of the paragraph, her hand coming up to finger through her own red-gold hair, and then she sighed.

"I wish Gram had come over and braided my hair."

There was a struck pause, time stretched to the breaking as Alexis's wistful words permeated Beckett's circling thoughts.

And then Kate was uncurling her legs and reaching for Alexis before she even realized what she was doing, before she even realized she'd already made the decision. "I can braid your hair. Like Caddie?"

Alexis turned sharply, mouth open, her hair slipping through Kate's fingers. "You can?"

"Yeah. Easy."

"Can I watch?" Castle asked.

Beckett lifted her eyes to him in a smirk, a rush of simmering arousal flaring between them, and he actually blushed.

"I need to watch you do it so I can learn," he said, shrugging his shoulders at her, his eyes hot on hers.

"Uh-huh." She could imagine.

"What. Don't judge me."

She pressed her lips together to hold back the grin that threatened, instead ducked her head to look at Alexis. "Here, come sit in front of me on the floor."

The girl scrambled down and practically sat on Kate's feet, eager and beaming. "Can you do it in two? One on either side?"

"Yeah. Two French braids. I'm rusty, so I'll go slow, but I can do it. You want them loose or tight?"

"Tight. So they last."

Kate had just begun parting Alexis's hair, smoothing her fingers through the red strands, when Castle shifted closer on the couch, his thigh against hers, his shoulder at hers. She glanced over at him, but his eyes were fixed on his daughter.

"Hey," she said. "Go get me a comb and a couple rubber bands. Hair bands, not actual rubber bands."

He startled and glanced to her, then smirked. "I know what rubber bands you mean. I'm the one who put her hair in pigtails when she was just two-"

"Da-ad," Alexis groaned.

Kate nudged him with her shoulder. "Go, Dad. Rubber bands. And a comb so I can make sure this is even."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she fought to school her features, keep this as innocuous and innocent as she could. She was just braiding his daughter's hair. As a friend. They could have a friendship, really, they could. He'd built a home here, and she was finding it almost inescapably alluring, but she wouldn't wreck it.

She wouldn't ruin it. They could be friends.

But when he finally stood up, she watched him go, her eyes tracing the wide line of his shoulders and down the broad expanse of his back.

* * *

She was braiding his daughter's hair. Methodically, taking her time with it. Like it was nothing more than a sleepover, a girls' slumber party, while his daughter sat at her feet in pajamas and talked about being a pioneer.

He couldn't - it wasn't at all what he'd expected from her. When he'd opened the door, she'd looked like she wanted to eat him up. But she'd said nothing about his compromise, the deal of a week's ride-along. She'd eaten dinner with them, and then practically snuggled into his couch while he read the first chapter of Alexis's book, and she was still here.

She was still here.

"You have to start at the top," she murmured, offering him instructions.

He knew what his comment about watching and learning had sounded like, had seen the flare in her eyes, and so now every word she spoke seemed laced with subtext.

"Don't rush it, or it will fall apart," she said softly.

She'd pulled one half of Alexis's hair to the side in a rubber band, keeping it out of the way so she could work on the other side. Her fingers were long and sure, quick, and she ran them through Alexis's mane a few times like she was getting the feel for it.

"At the top," he repeated, swallowing. "Got it."

"That's all a French braid is, really. Just starting it at the scalp and adding it in, layer by layer."

Damn, it was so wrong. So wrong with his daughter right here.

Kate's fingers had already teased three strands from his daughter's bright red hair, knitting them together before he even had a chance to really study her method. She was almost doing it one-handed, twining the pieces around each other.

"You have to draw in hair from the sides as you go," Kate said, her voice low, soothing, and somehow still so very much in command. She scraped her thumb at Alexis's temple and gathered a row of hair, added it to the braid she had going.

"Oh. Yeah, I see that." When he actually paid attention, it was clear. He laughed and leaned forward to look at Alexis's face. She had closed her eyes, and her head bobbed with Kate's every movement. He shifted back to look at this woman who was suddenly so at ease, so available, so _friendly_.

What had happened? What had he said to make her look at him like that?

"My dad used to read that book to me, too," she said suddenly, talking to the back of Alexis's head even as her fingers worked.

"He did."

"He read to me at night, before bed, with just this tiny lamp on. Caddie Woodlawn, but also Chronicles of Narnia and Little House-"

"I've read those too," Alexis said, half-turning her head to look. Kate stopped her with a hand and she settled back against Kate's knees. "I didn't really like Little House, but Caddie is great."

"I didn't like Little House on the Prairie either," Kate confessed. Castle could see her grin, swift as it was, when it flickered across her face. "They seemed too weepy to me."

"We haven't gotten through all of the Narnia books yet." Castle kept close, his voice low so he wouldn't intrude on this cozy space that had cleared around them. He didn't know yet if he was included, and that was a strange thought.

"Oh, did you start with Magician's Nephew or with Wardrobe?"

"Wardrobe," he answered. "I don't like that they re-ordered them for the sake of chronology."

"Me either," she said, and this time she cast him that smile in his direction, an elusive and shimmering thing that reached her eyes. It made his breath catch. "I thought it was so much more rewarding to read Magician's Nephew at the end of the series, like he wrote it. So much more beautiful."

Beautiful? No, _she_ was beautiful.

And he almost let that come right out of his mouth, but he managed to bite it back. Still, if she looked over at him again, she'd see it in his eyes and he had to stop.

He had to stop. This was no longer even remotely under his control.

He had to stop wanting her so much, had to stop tripping over her smile and stumbling when she said his name. He had to stop this before-

She reached out for his hand, plucked the rubber band at his wrist with a pull of her deft fingers, light and cool, and then slowly trailed the rubber band off, her touch electric and singular and amazing.

Oh.

It was already too late for him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Vice**

* * *

Alexis smiled at her shyly from the middle stair, her hair in two French braids down her back and looking a lot like Caddie Woodlawn herself. Beckett fought the urge to hug her good-night and watched her slowly mount the steps and disappear upstairs.

"Thank you," he said.

She turned and saw that Castle was watching her, entirely too closely. She wanted to warn him off, tell him that this kind of thing didn't happen, wouldn't be happening again - she didn't do family anymore.

But she couldn't.

"I can't be her mom," she blurted out instead, shut her eyes when she realized it had come spilling out of her mouth.

She'd hurt him, no doubt. She was presuming a lot and panicking too and she-

His bare fingers against her neck made her eyes fly open again; he stood in front of her and even though she could see the wound she'd caused, he was still there, fighting past it.

"I don't want you to be her mom," he said.

And that hurt too. Probably in the same silly, stupid way it had hurt him - it wasn't real, it was just pride.

She sucked in a long breath.

"That cleared up now?" he murmured, and before she knew what was happening, his mouth was slanted over hers.

She rocked forward, hands lifting to frame his face, her fingers splayed at his jaw to feel it work as he kissed her. His teeth nipped at her lip, his tongue slipped inside, stroked long and hard against hers.

His hand skated down her back, pressed in at her spine to carry her closer; she felt their hips brush and bump, felt the way they fit, hard edges and tense muscle, and then he was bunching her shirt, digging his fingers at her waist, making her gasp.

He pulled back with a breathless noise, his eyes like crystal shards, but he grinned arrogantly at her and brought his hand up between them, his fingers at the top button of her dress shirt.

She'd come straight from her interview with Captain Montgomery; she was ahead of the other applicants by a good two weeks, but he'd wanted to get it done, he said, because she was good, he saw what she could be-

Castle's fingers popped open her button. "You did say. . .start at the top?"

She sucked in a breath and stared at him, felt the flame of this thing between them flare up so hot, so bright.

"You said layer by layer," he murmured, and that catch in his throat, the raw and seductive power of his voice was wrapping all the way around her, through her.

"I said a lot of things," she answered finally. "Some of them I didn't even mean."

It was the best apology he was going to get.

He splayed his fingers at her chest, stroked his thumb down the slope of her breast until she gasped.

It seemed she was forgiven.

* * *

She hadn't made him any promises, but he wasn't about to open his fat mouth and ask for them. He'd spent all week regretting it, all week wondering if he'd get a chance to see her again, and now that she was here, he wouldn't risk the words.

Her body was lithe and firm against his, her hands kept stalling out as he touched her. He liked that, liked distracting her so badly she forgot what she was doing. Heat bloomed between them, as aptly named as her character in his novel, and he took from her mouth whatever she wanted to give.

She backed him up against the kitchen counter, nearest hard surface, and he kneaded her thigh, pressed his thumb to her hipbone as she panted at his ear. He loved the feel of her, the stuttering breath, the heat of her palm and the cool of her fingers; he loved the arch of her spine as he pressed her closer.

"What are we doing?" she murmured.

"Do I need to explain it?" he teased, sucking lightly at the skin under her jaw, cupping her breast with his hand in a swift movement that had her pushing in tight against him.

"Castle," she rasped, her voice breaking. He withdrew from the tantalizing line of her neck and caught her half-lidded eyes.

She was drowning and trying to hide it; she was in over her head.

He shouldn't, but he went in for her mouth, took a kiss from her that wasn't resuscitation but rough enough to drag her under.

She broke the seal of his mouth and he felt her grip in his shirt, saw the wide and hungry eyes roving his face, and then she came back all on her own, breathless with it, her body rolling into his like a wave.

She nipped at his bottom lip, trailed fire along his jaw until she took his earlobe between her teeth, licked. "I'll stay as long as I can," she murmured. "As long as I can."

And he didn't know what that meant or what it looked like for them, but he'd take it.

He'd take her.

* * *

Finally in his wide bed, she arched against him but he wasn't moving; she struggled to control it, to keep herself on top, but he kept disarming her with the scorch of his mouth, the hard line of his thigh, the tight press of his body.

She wasn't in control here; she was helpless to it.

But he was too, he was just as helpless, just as unmade. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he said her name, feel it in the jerk of his hips into hers.

Neither of them were in control.

She hadn't meant to. It was supposed to be a nice fun time, a way to get him out of her system, but instead she was taking him deeper, closer, binding him to herself.

"I like your top," he murmured and she pushed up against his hand as he discarded her shirt.

"Interview," she panted back, felt his fingers trail down her skin.

He paused, drew back and she moaned, opening her eyes to question him. He was staring down at her, his body in shadows in his bedroom but the substance was all there under her hands, hot and firm. She knew the shape of him, wanted more of it.

"Castle?"

"Interview for what?"

She grinned and lifted up to his mouth, bruised him with a kiss before answering. "Detective."

"Ahead of time," he said slowly, a grin drawing across his face. "You're all dressed up." His hand flirted across her abs, fiddled with the button on her dark pants. "This what a detective wears?"

She blinked and tried to gather her thoughts, but his hand at her stomach was catching all of her attention like an undertow. She couldn't swim away. He grinned wider and brushed his thumb at the hollow of her throat and her belly button at the same time, making her hips roll to meet him.

"Kate," he said slowly, his voice dripped with wicked amusement. "This what a detective wears?"

"Better be more than this," she gasped out, only wearing her pants and underwear. "I get enough of the skimpy outfits in Vice."

He laughed and she could feel it vibrate her chest, echo in her ribs. His mouth touched the center of her bra, his cheek rubbing at her skin, and she drew her arms around him, curled her body up to welcome his.

"Hurry," she murmured. "Just. . ."

"You got some place to be?" he rumbled and his teeth scraped the edge of her skin, his thumbs pushed down into her hips.

She was tired of this slow and steady stuff; she wanted the lightning, the out of control, the press of him against the kitchen counter.

"Maybe I do," she muttered and drew her knee up to his hip, flipped him before he could respond.

He huffed out a laugh under her, his hands broad and wide and skating up and down her back, slowly, maddeningly. He was entirely too pleased with himself about this. He looked like he thought he was so clever, like he'd arranged her just like he wanted.

And because she thought maybe he had, maybe he really had figured her all out, she rocked hard over him and wiped that smile right off his face.

* * *

She was amazing.

Afterwards, he stayed awake and watched her. She didn't sleep either, and he knew, somewhere in the still-functioning part of his brain, that she wouldn't fall asleep because she didn't want to spend the night. But that was okay, so long as she never stopped looking at him like that.

He was lying on his side, his arm between them so he could paint her cheek with his fingertips. She brushed kisses to his thumb from time to time, her eyes lulling and contented and dark, the wash of satiation making her skin dusky.

She unfurled an arm from underneath her body, drew it around his, their elbows kissing, their wrists, her fingers curling up in his palm. He wasn't quite able to hold her hand, just cradle it in the bed between them, but that was good too.

He drew in closer, pressing her arm to his chest as he brushed a kiss to that mouth, felt her lips part on a smile under him.

When he moved back, she followed, her forehead coming to rest against his, the still-thrumming heat of her side pressing into him. He untangled their fingers to draw his arm over her back, and then he shifted to bring her to his chest.

She came, making designs on his skin with her cool fingers, her mouth pressed to his collarbone again and again.

And then she drew her hand down and raised her body up and he knew they wouldn't be sleeping at all tonight.

* * *

"It's only three," he whispered back.

She wasn't surprised he was still awake. Every time she thought she was ready to leave, he was there to convince her otherwise. He hadn't even said anything; he had merely drawn her to him and kept her there for a little while longer.

"I have to shower," she said.

"You smell good," he countered, and his nose pressed into the drying sweat at her neck, followed by the bold lick of his tongue. "You taste good."

"Still gotta shower," she said, heard her own voice - breathless and needy - and didn't even recognize it.

"Sure. You go," he said, the words muffled in her neck, her hair, his fingers stroking up her sides.

Three in the morning and she had a long subway ride back and a freezing winter walk from the station to her apartment and then her lonely bed with its cold sheets and no Castle.

"Oh, hey, you know what?" His voice sounded too careful, too studied for this to be something he just now thought of. "I have a shower."

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she did, but she realized her hands were traveling up and down his ribs in silent imitation of his movements, their bodies still pressed together and his mouth hovering over her sternum.

"You could use mine," he said, his breath hot against her skin. "Save you some time."

She drew her palms up his back to his shoulders, fought her exhaustion to lift her head and taste the curve of his bicep, then felt him flex against her mouth.

"Convince me," she said into his skin. "Convince me, Castle."

"Admit it," he said, his mouth traveling down her body. "You're already convinced."

She closed her eyes and couldn't stop the instinctive jerk of her hips. "I was convinced before I walked in your door."

* * *

When she stepped out of his shower, he was still sitting on the side of his bed - he hadn't made it any farther. She'd left the bathroom door open, and he knew it was an invitation, but he couldn't actually stand up to get in the game. She was too fast.

She was wrapped in one of his huge chocolate brown towels, her skin steaming and wet, and she came straight for him with her hands clasped at the knot in the towel.

"You okay?" she said, and the caution in her voice made him wish he'd managed to shake off his lethargy, his weariness, his _tapped-out-ness_ enough to at least put his hands on her in there.

"I might fall over," he explained with a soft laugh. He reached for her and again she came, came right into the v of his legs and dropped her hands on his shoulders before cupping his cheeks.

She leaned over and kissed him, and there was sweetness in it. A little. Okay maybe he was sappy and tired, but there was something to kissing him when she didn't have to, when it wasn't just for sex. Right?

"You get any sleep?" she said, her hands drifting away as well as her body.

He let her go because he wasn't going to ask again, wasn't going to attempt to make her stay, not this time. "Not much. Lot of sleepless nights this week."

Her head snapped back to him; he saw by her face that she'd meant just tonight, that she wasn't being clairvoyant about his week-long regret: the way he'd found himself _missing_ her, when she shouldn't be anything more to him than a strange girl he met on a street corner.

But she was. More.

So he took his confession gracefully, inclined his chin toward her. "Yeah, well. Couldn't stop thinking about you."

Oh shit. That was probably bad.

He glanced up, but she was coming for him, her mouth was on his, her knees bumping into his thighs.

"Me too," she murmured into his mouth, kissed him lightly, kiss after kiss, swirled around him like cotton candy.

"Kate," he breathed, hands tangled in the towel, his body already canting back towards the bed. She followed, her palms on his chest, and he stroked his fingers up her thigh, tugged at the end of her towel until it spilled open.

She shook her head at him, hair falling wetly around her cheeks, her lips smirked up into a look that was both hot and reluctant at the same time.

"Sorry but no. I've got to go home, and honestly, Castle, I'm not sure you'd survive."

He squeezed her thigh, transfixed by the sight of her naked over him, clean and smelling like his soap, and watched her lean in and take his mouth, felt her body brushing his, a soft and drugging pleasure.

"Rain check," he murmured.

"Till next time," she whispered, and then slid off his bed with more grace than anyone had the right to at three in the morning.

He fell asleep before she even left his loft.

There would be a next time.


	18. Chapter 18

**Vice**

* * *

She thought about his mouth.

She thought about his mouth and then his hands - the broad and wide palms, the strong fingers, - and then his mouth.

And then she shut it down. She did her official beat alone in the squad car, one eye out for anything tragic or just off, her hand cradling the wheel like she'd done to him yesterday morning.

Okay, shutting it down wasn't it exactly working.

Still she managed to shove it away long enough to cruise her grid, four hours on before she was called in to help work a gambling case. She showed up at the precinct only to have Captain Montgomery give her a secretive smile (and she'd been worried that _Castle_ would make her look bad?), and she headed into the Vice bullpen ready to work.

Drudge work, of course, but she was putting in her time. She sorted through stacks of phone records, looking for patterns and paying attention to the way Detective Greer handled the investigation. More importantly, the way he handled the people working under him.

He wasn't her favorite, and the others evidently felt the same. Jarvis, an officer who'd been pulled off the street like herself, had the corner of the table spread out with video surveillance stills, but he was casting Greer dirty looks. The Vice detective was jokey, too cocky with it, thought he was everyone's friend.

Beckett needed a female detective to compare him to, but there weren't any in Vice right now. One had just promoted up to 1PP, and she knew there was another on the street looking to slide into a detective slot here.

She hadn't been interviewed though - only Beckett so far. It was making her nervous, honestly, the unequal attention. Couldn't be good in the long run. She didn't want the uniforms looking at her the way Jarvis was looking at Greer.

Beckett glanced back to the phone records, highlighting the calls from a certain extension, and tried to piece together what Greer was doing wrong.

Too friendly. But not friendly enough was bad as well.

Too high-handed. He'd pulled Jarvis and herself off the street in the middle of their shifts, and while it happened all the time, he hadn't asked or requested it of them, just yanked their duty rosters.

Still, a detective had to be firm, in control-

Castle was damn good at being in control. How did he do _that_? He acted easy-going and easy-to-please, but when he wanted-

Oh shit. No. Not at work.

* * *

He was waiting outside for her.

Alexis startled but came running for him, clutching her backpack on her shoulders, her grin wide. She didn't even say good-bye to her friends; she just hooked an arm around his neck on a jump and kissed his cheek.

"Hey Dad."

"Whoa. You're excited."

"We finished Red Fern today and then guess what my teacher pulled out next?"

"What?"

"From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankwater!"

"I think it's Frankweiler. But why's that got you so excited?" He laughed at her bouncing, skipping joy as she darted down the sidewalk ahead of him.

"Weiler? Well okay. Frankwater sounds better-"

"Back on topic. Why's it so exciting? Just getting a new book-"

"No! Because it's one of Kate's!"

He grinned, just her name making his chest expand like a helium balloon, threatening to float his heart right up his throat. "Yeah? One of Kate's, huh?"

"In the bag she gave me. I haven't started it, but Kate has good stuff."

"Yeah, she does have good stuff." And, wow, that sounded dirtier than he meant, not at all how he meant, but she did have good stuff. She was young, wow, she was young, and some of that energy and wild spark ignited when she touched him-

"Dad, can we get ice cream for my snack?"

"No," he said automatically, then backtracked. "Wait. Yeah. Ice cream. Huh, for some reason I heard broccoli and I thought-"

"Ew, gross, Dad. No broccoli."

"Ice cream it is. That's in the milk food group, so it's good for you."

"Dairy, Dad. The dairy food group. And they don't teach it like that anymore."

"How do they teach it?" he gasped, wrangling an arm around her neck to drag her with him. He was trying to convince himself that it was a s supremely bad idea to get ice cream for Kate and take it to her at work. Supremely bad to disturb a cop in the middle of - whatever it was she was doing right now, which he'd know if she let him come with her-

Oh well, she'd already done that, hadn't she? Come with her. And-

Shit. He was doomed. He couldn't stop thinking about her.

* * *

When she nearly got tackled by a suspect heading for the door of a fine (read: illegal) gaming establishment, she knew she was walking a dangerous line.

Because she'd been thinking about him, and how it'd been too late last night to go to his place for not-dinner, and how she'd wanted to show up anyway even though it was only the night before that they-

Enter the gigantic beast of a man with hamhocks for hands and a growling gravel in his voice as he ran like a scared sack of - ahem - while Beckett stood stupidly and distractedly in the way.

She was in trouble. Actual serious trouble.

She was putting herself at risk being so stupid and _girly_, and more than that, she was risking the members of this team by being incompetent.

Jarvis had her back in an instant, and then she was wrestling the meaty guy to the floor with her cuffs flashed on him before he knew he was even down. It worked - it wasn't pretty, but it worked. Jarvis kept his mouth shut when Detective Greer bellowed like a sea cow about the sting being ruined, and Beckett knew she'd owe him for that too, for life it seemed like now, but that was okay. Jarvis was okay.

But Beckett was not okay. She had to get a lock on this thing before she hurt someone, or got herself killed.

Jeez, who knew Richard Castle's hands could kill in more than one way?

In more than two? Oh, wow, the words he wrote with those hands, the way he used those hands against her in bed, and then how she fantasized about them while a two-ton Mack truck of a man barrelled-

_Come on, Beckett._

Concentrate.

She had to stay away from him for a while, get this thing down to a dull roar.

* * *

Her email - she emailed him and he smiled stupidly at the computer screen - said work was slammed and she was on another undercover thing about a gambling ring. He believed her and-

he didn't.

Still he made extra that night. And the next. And the next. And then he and Alexis were forced to eat leftovers from three nights' ago, but Alexis insisted it was good, she liked it, and then his mother came over the next night and he prayed Beckett wouldn't show that time, and then the night after that he stopped worrying about it so much.

Alexis seemed okay. More than okay. She was ten after all - not five. She read her collection from Kate and tried to steal the computer in his study to look up more books to read, but he nixed that and made her look at funny internet videos instead.

Tonight, though, it was a PBS video assigned in class - seriously, her health teacher assigned a video - and embarrassingly enough, it was also a health video - a _health_ video - in which it detailed in medically accurate but entirely unglamorous terms what he and Kate Beckett had been up to the night - ah, was it a week ago now?

He should have read the instruction sheet that had come with the link they sent home; he should have read it, but now Alexis was wrinkling her forehead and looking at him like it was entirely impossible that he _not_ know this stuff already.

"Alexis. Ah, you have any questions?" he said lamely, and wondered if his face looked as horrendously surprised and frightfully embarrassed as he felt.

He and Kate had just done that. Rather more creatively, and he liked to think, rather more convincingly (also maybe with more love? or at least affection) and now his daughter was sitting in the chair pulled up next to the computer with that wrinkled forehead.

"Do you like it?" she asked, waving her hand to the sex ed video.

He sighed. "Yes."

"Would I like it?"

"No." He bit out his answer and rubbed at his jaw. "Ah. When you're older, maybe so. Yes." _If he does it right_ just didn't seem like an okay thing to say. And his daughter, his _daughter_, was suddenly five again and not that all-mature, handling-it-okay ten. At least to Castle.

"Why are you all red?" she said.

"I'm embarrassed."

"But Dad. . .surely you already know. I mean, this is how you got me."

He laughed, sputtering, and nodded wildly at her, trying not to make it look like he was completely taken aback by her wide array of knowledge. Who'd had this conversation with her? She was ten.

"It is. Yes."

"With my mom."

"Yes. With - ah, yes, your mother."

"You do that with mom a lot, so why aren't there more?"

He stared at her. "I - do - I - what?"

"Isn't that what happens when I go to school and Mom sticks around?"

He swallowed roughly. "What do you think we're doing?"

"Having sex."

Well, shit. "Who told you that?"

"Mom did."

The burn of his anger cleared the embarrassment right up and he sat straighter in the chair, recognized he'd have to delve into this now. And then have a conversation with Meredith.

"Sometimes we do," he admitted slowly. "We did. But not anymore."

"Why am I the only one?"

"The only one what?"

"If you and Mom are having sex like this-" She saw his face evidently, because she hastily corrected herself. "Were having sex. Were. Then why aren't there more babies? Does it only work if you love each other very much?"

Truth or not the truth? Which hurt less in the long run? "It works just about any time, Alexis. But you can - ah, there are things you can do to keep from getting a baby."

"Oh," she said, her breath coming out like relief. "I'm so glad. You do that - but you also do _things_ - right, Dad? You don't want more babies."

"Ah." Not with Meredith, that was for damn sure.

"But like with someone you love very much, right Dad? It should be a baby with them. Like when you used to love Mom, but someone who loves you too."

"Right." Was that even the truth? Well sure, he'd loved Meredith, and she'd love him back in a way, as best as anyone as shallow as himself then could love someone as flighty and unstable as Meredith, and vice versa. "Yes. If I have another baby, then it would be with someone I loved. Who loved me. And who loved you too, pumpkin. Or it wouldn't work very well."

Alexis drew her arm around his neck and squeezed, then hopped off the chair and moved like she was going to leave the room.

"Wait a minute, Alexis."

She stopped, casting a look over her shoulder at him, and he suddenly saw her in five more years, fifteen and wanting to go out with a boy, and the conversation now would affect that conversation then.

"Come back here. I think we have a few more things to talk about."

She wrinkled her nose. "Like what?"

"Like when it's okay to have sex in the first place."

"Dad. I'm ten. I'm not having sex."

"That's an excellent start. Now get your butt back here. We're talking."

She rolled her eyes and huffed with every step back, threw herself into the chair.

He wondered if it would be okay to start this now, but then take a time out and come back to it later? Because he just didn't have the words for all the crazy rattling around in his head and squeezing his heart.

He wondered what Kate's father had told her, what minefield of pre-adolescence he might be walking into right now that could be avoided if he got insight from someone who wasn't as old as his own mother.

Someone young enough to have been getting the talk herself when Alexis was being, ah, created.

Shit, Beckett was young. But she'd know just what to say, wouldn't she?

"Dad?" Alexis said, lifting an eyebrow.

"Okay. So. First of all-" he started, and then stopped, staring at her. Yeah, he could do this. He would do this. He had to do this - for that fifteen year old who'd want to go out on a date with a boy. "First of all, sex is serious."

* * *

What was she doing here?

His family - his family was serious. The sex was supposed to be fun, but here she was, showing up again.

Alexis opened the door dressed in pajamas, wet hair curling at the ends, and a book in her hand. Konigsburg, Kate thought.

"Um. Hi." _I don't want you to be her mother._

"Hey!" Alexis opened the door wider, but Castle was nowhere in sight. "Did you come for dinner? We already ate. I think Dad could make you something, but we don't even have leftovers even though we had leftovers all week but you never came so-"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, stunned by the volume rushing out of Alexis.

"Why?"

"Why didn't I come? Well-"

"Why are you sorry?" Alexis said, tilting her head and closing the door behind Kate. The knob clicking into place made Beckett jump. "What's to be sorry about? You said you wouldn't be able to make it most of the time."

"I - I just didn't - I thought maybe you'd been expecting me."

"Nope. You're good." Alexis skipped off, heading for the couch, then changed directions and went towards the kitchen. "Oh, well, do you want something? There might be mac and cheese?"

"No, Alexis. I'm good. I ate already," she admitted, holding her breath to see what happened there, but Alexis took that in stride too.

"Cool. Hey, guess what? My teacher is reading us one of your books."

"You gave the teacher my-"

"No, like, she already had it, I mean. But she's reading this one," Alexis grinned, holding up the Mixed Up Files book that Kate remembered loving, but had no idea anymore of the details.

"Oh. Good. Wow. So - you like it?"

"It's awesome. I want more like this. Can you make me a list?"

Kate laughed, startled and struck by the girl, but mostly it was the way she dashed Beckett's expectations. Why had she been avoiding Alexis all week, and by extension _him_, when Alexis seemed to be perfectly content with whatever she got?

Ouch. Okay, well, hiding from his daughter because she didn't want to set her up for disappointment clearly was stupid. His family was serious, but they didn't seem to take themselves too seriously. She could do that maybe.

"I can make you a list," she said carefully. "Of what I remember. Don't you think your Dad or your teacher know more-"

"No way. I want to know the ones you read when you were me. I mean my age."

"I'll do my best," she answered, titles already crowding into her head. Indian in the Cupboard and that one with the kid named Bingo and all the Beverly Cleary books. "Uh, Alexis. Where's your dad?"

"He's on the phone in his study. Like super important meeting or something."

"At ten?" She glanced at her watch. "Okay, nine-thirty? And aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"I'm - I was waiting on Dad."

"To what? Tuck you in?" she laughed. "You're ten. Not two."

Alexis huffed, but she was throwing Kate a sneaky look. She'd been staying up on purpose, and maybe Castle was okay with that? Huh, well, Kate shouldn't really-

"You could tuck me in. I wanted Dad to read me a chapter of this one, but I bet you'd be good at it too."

No, no the kid was _ten_, come on. "Alexis," she hedged, glancing towards the study.

"Just a short one. Please?" Alexis reached out and hooked her arm through Kate's, started dragging her towards the stairs. "I'm so tired, Kate, and I have to be well-rested for school tomorrow, and Dad usually does it for me, but if you could. . ."

"You know I'm a cop, right? Guilt trips don't work on me."

Alexis laughed at that, dropping Kate's arm as she got to the stairs. "Okay, worth a shot. I'll just get in bed and read to myself until Dad's done."

As she started up, Kate realized that Castle would actually go upstairs and tuck his kid in bed, read to her as much as she wanted, do the whole bedtime routine, and that would cut into _Kate's _bed time with Castle.

Huh. "If I read to you, then you'll go to bed?" she asked quickly, one foot on the stairs.

Alexis turned and flashed her a brilliant grin. "Promise."

So Kate followed her up.


	19. Chapter 19

**Vice**

* * *

It was almost ten when he got off the phone; Castle rubbed a hand over his face and stared at his computer screen and the nearly finished novel. He'd written almost forty pages of Beckett-oriented stuff these past few weeks and he had no idea where or how to fit it in.

And now Gina was pissed because he was undermining the whole series _for a woman_ but it wasn't like that, not really. Okay sort of-

Where was Alexis? Probably reading on the couch where he'd left her. He might have heard the doorman buzz someone up? Uh-oh.

Castle got out of his chair and flicked off the monitor, promising himself he'd figure out a way to get Nikki Heat and Derrick Storm in the same chapter if he had to kill-

Oh. Oh, what if he just - killed Clara Strike?

It had its merits. But.

Kate would kill him. He didn't know the whole story on how big a fan she was (wardrobe malfunctions and reading in the shower aside), but after Gina flayed him alive, Kate would most certainly take her revenge on his body as well. Which might be kinky to think about, but probably would be painful and not so fun in real life.

But Clara was old news and-

No, really, that wasn't it. Clara was Clara - nothing more or less than she had been a year ago when he was in Sofia Turner's bed (she was never really in his, was she? even when she was). Clara was fine - she was the instrument of her government and a functionary of its continued existence, eking out her own pleasure in the scant time allotted to her.

But Derrick Storm? Storm had served his purpose, done his time, and he wanted more.

Richard Castle wasn't Derrick Storm any longer. He'd grown up a little - a lot - and he wanted more than secret missions and cool toys and a woman who would always elude him.

Derrick Storm wanted more than that as well, but Storm would never get it. He'd hit his glass ceiling and there was nowhere to go. Sure, Castle could probably write four or five more books on him, but that contract hadn't been signed yet-

and he was tempted not to.

Start over. Start fresh.

With a woman.

No. With Nikki Heat.

If the woman came with it, then-

* * *

He stood stock still in the hallway, his heart pounding like he'd scaled Everest and not just the stairs, watching while Kate sat in the bed with his daughter, reading a book aloud.

She had a gorgeous voice, rich and low, pitched that way maybe to encourage sleep, but naturally sensual. Soothing and arousing at the same time.

The room was dim, just the single bedside lamp casting its gold-tinged glow over the scene. Kate was on top of the covers with her shoes kicked off - oh, here, right outside Alexis's door apparently. She'd made herself comfortable. He smiled and lifted his eyes back to the picture they made.

Beckett looked so young in the amber light, the shadows deepened over her face, her hair blurred. And at the same time, the sunset look to the light showed him a vision of twenty years from now, skin smudged by time, face softened by family - a Kate matured and weathered and deepened. He had to shift his eyes to his daughter to catch his breath.

Alexis was curled on one side, head on the pillow, and it was late enough that she had to struggle to keep her eyes open. Her bedtime probably could be extended - she was old enough and he was getting the sense from the other moms in the pick-up line that their kids were going to bed at ten.

She'd always needed more sleep though, early to bed and - unfortunately for him (and those hangovers during his rebellious parent phase) - early to rise.

But she wasn't a five year old any longer. She was ten. She was practically oozing teenaged hormones and attitude, and he'd noticed when he picked her up from school that she acted one way around him and so much older around her friends.

Older even around Beckett.

Kate. Who was closing the book and dropping it onto the floor, sliding off the bed, and leaning over to brush Alexis's hair back.

Castle made himself scarce, managed to miss all the creaking steps in the staircase on his way down, and scooted back into his study.

What had - what had that been about? Kate tucking in his daughter, reading to his ten year old-

She didn't need a mother; she had a mother.

(But. She needed a friend. He needed someone to tell him - _let your daughter go to bed at ten_, or _here's what she needs to know about sex._)

She needed. . .her father's girlfriend?

"Mm, there you are."

He turned wildly at the sound of her voice, the low tones laid over the same sounds she'd used reading to Alexis, and the combination was so powerfully erotic that he reached out for her as she came towards him, pulled her flush against his body to feel her, hear her, taste her.

She smiled, predatory and pleased, and leaned in to rub against him as she claimed his mouth.

"Alexis let me in," she breathed against his lips, but he was already parting for her, pushing a hand low to her back to slide her thighs between his.

"Good girl," he murmured, and broke from the nibbling quest of her teeth to suckle at her neck. She cried out, a little breathy, a lot hot, and curled her hands in his shirt.

"Who? Alexis or me?"

"Yes," he muttered.

"I'm not your girl, Castle," she purred, that rich, lovely voice wrapping around him.

"You're certainly something," he gasped, felt her hands trailing over him.

She broke from him. "I could certainly-"

"Why are you still talking?" he groaned, chasing after her mouth.

"Take me to bed, maybe I'll shut up," she instructed, and hooked her knee at his thigh and rode the hard line of his leg.

Castle gaped at her, stunned and aroused and mesmerized by the pleasure erupting fiercely in her eyes, how she just took what she wanted. And then he turned them both and began walking her back to his bedroom, wanting in on that - whatever it was that came alive in her body - needing it.

"Glad you decided to drop by," he said finally, and stole a rough kiss from her before pushing her down to his bed. "But I changed my mind. Don't shut up. I want to hear you."

* * *

"You definitely don't shut up," he said, grinning at her.

She shoved on his shoulder and pretended to get out of his bed only to have him snake an arm around her and tug her back. She landed flush against his chest and felt the quick skitter of her heart responding to him, even now, after that.

"I like it, though," he murmured and drew his hand down her side. She was practically sprawled on top of him like this, her back to his chest, and she shivered, unable to control the reaction she had to him.

She didn't like it though, didn't like being exposed like this, so she twisted in his grip and laid herself out over him, inched upward until she could stare down into his eyes.

But he pressed his palm to her back and left it there, shifted his legs so that hers tangled with his, and then he stroked his thumb along her neck, cradled her head.

All unspoken invitations to just - sleep here with him.

She didn't want to turn her head and look at the clock, but she wasn't - she couldn't stay, and she needed to know how much time she had, but she was afraid that looking would hurt him in some way, and more importantly, hurt _her_ estimation in his eyes.

So she didn't look.

She dropped her chin to his sternum, pressed her lips to the bare skin under her, and then closed her eyes. Family was serious, she reminded herself, but she couldn't make herself move away from him.

"You're quiet now," he murmured, the hand at her back splaying, encompassing more skin, and the hand at her head now curling through her hair, playing with loose strands, twirling it.

"No need to speak," she answered finally.

He touched, like an investigator at a crime scene, carefully, handling everything, inspecting it for clues, putting it back where he found it. She shivered, and he drew her down to lie on her side so she could exchange the hard curve of his rib for the arch of his arm and part of his pillow.

She darted her tongue out to touch the skin over his bicep, let her mouth stay open there, teeth just barely grazing him.

His touch changed, became less purposeful, less direct, more like a suspect in the box, questing, pointlessly curious, exploring the known topography in a careful but circuitous manner. Fingertips at her shoulder blade and up her neck, the hypnotic circling of his thumb around her ear, the hinge of her jaw, skirting her throat to move down and play at the slope of her breast before trailing fire at her side and returning to her back.

Like he didn't know what story to tell, but he'd include pieces of everything.

"What if I wrote a whole series about Nikki?"

"What?" She struggled to make sense of his words in the midst of his hypnotic touch.

"I can't make Storm work. He doesn't get her; he's too dull to appreciate the mystery of Nikki Heat."

She wanted to pull back, look at his face as he said it, but she could feel everything she needed to know by the way his hand moved over her, lazy and intent at once. His fingertips brushed her spine, his other hand sifted her hair - appreciating her.

"He'll. . ." She paused as his fingertips skirted low, brushed her cheeks, came up again. She closed her eyes tightly but that only drew more erotic pictures on her eyelids like cave paintings. "He'll grow to understand her."

"He won't be enough for her."

Her heart clenched hard enough to make her body seek his hand, pressing back for a firmer touch. Castle gave it to her easily, without even seeming to know she needed it, and scooted his own body closer.

"He won't be enough. . .?" That wasn't despair in her voice.

"But I think someone new. Someone who - wants to know her, someone enthralled by her from the first moment he sets eyes on her. Someone with words for it."

"Someone who isn't jaded by it already," she murmured, thinking about Storm and how bleak his outlook always was, how cynical. That had been the man she'd seen before he'd taken her to the rehab center with his daughter in tow. The world-weary man, the playboy persona - self-absorbed and charming and tired of the game.

It wasn't him, but it was Derrick Storm.

"Exactly," he breathed out. "Someone lighter - smart, but willing to be happy. He can't handle her either, but she shouldn't be handled. Still, he wants to make her happy too."

God, she could love him.

Just like that, she could so easily love him.

* * *

When she shifted out of his arms at three that morning to get a shower, he followed. He'd slept hard all week, and well, he'd been looking forward to this since before he actually knew he'd get a chance to do it.

He memorized the way the water clung to her skin, the darkness of her hair sleek under the spray, the slope of her nose and eyebrow as drops streaked down her face. She washed her hair first, kept pushing him back against the tile with promising, _later_ kisses, hot kisses, before going back to her shower. He watched, and touched what he could, and then she finished and pulled him up against her and he got to do as he liked.

She seemed to need boundaries for this, and he was good with that - let me shower first, she seemed to say, and then we'll do it your way. He liked pushing against those invisible barriers, poking a finger into the force field and getting that delightful shock right through his body.

She seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and purposefully kept her rules flimsy, half-strength, shifting all the time. No family time she said, but here she was reading to his daughter.

When they were done, and undone, he slipped out of the shower ahead of her, surprising her most likely, but he dried off, threw on pajama pants and a tshirt, and padded into his study to drop down at his computer.

He needed a laptop. Next purchase. With a laptop, he'd be able to take it in the bedroom and watch her get ready as he wrote. Keep an eye on her, ever fascinated with the intricacies of a woman's boudoir.

_Boudoir? _Ug. Okay, so he needed to spend less time around his mother, who was easily pushing. . .she'd kill him if he even thought her age, so he stopped that train of thought. Still. It held true that he needed less time with his mother and more Kate.

Of course he did.

He opened his chapter, read through the last scene to get himself in the groove, and then he started fresh, knowing exactly what would happen about fifty pages from now, and writing to get there.

After at least nine pages' worth, he felt her fingers skimming his shoulder and trailing into the hair at the nape of his neck. He turned and she'd borrowed a shirt of his - a soft blue polo that looked a hell of a lot better on her, the man on his horse right above her breast - and she was back in her jeans and shoes.

"You kinda ruined my shirt," she said, but leaned in to kiss him. He caught her mouth before she could make it on the cheek, slipped his tongue inside the heat of her for inspiration.

"I liked ruining your shirt. Wait. It was a tshirt. How'd I ruin it?" he muttered, drawing back to look at her, not remember popping off any buttons.

She cocked an eyebrow at him and he remembered grabbing something to - oh yeah.

"Sorry."

"Mm," she shrugged. "Threw it in with your laundry. You can have your expensive service do it." She winked at him and came in for another kiss, and he didn't bother to tell her that he did his own laundry, and that when he pulled her shirt out later and washed it, he just might keep it.

Lose it, he meant. Lose it.

He kissed her back, felt the slide of her hand down his chest, running determinedly to the loose waistband of his pants, and he lifted his hips to help.

She sighed and nudged her nose against his, a no, then seemed to give in, slide onto his lap, a most definite yes.

"Once more for the road?" she murmured, pulling back so that her eyes were dark on his, so lovely and luminous.

"Yeah." Research.


	20. Chapter 20

**Vice**

* * *

He had sixty pages. They just flowed.

He called Gina back and started in on it again; this time, he knew what he wanted and he was going to get it.

She fought passionately, but the funny thing was - it fit. He had one chapter left to tie up loose ends, and there was a dangling thread from the A plot that hadn't been resolved, and all it took - he wrote it as he spoke to her - was one fatal shot.

He killed Derrick Storm - in his study, with a handful of keyboard strokes, and with Gina as witness.

"It's done," he said.

"I can't believe you're killing the golden goose."

"I thought I was your golden goose."

"Can you guarantee sales with your new muse?" The way she said _muse_, it left no doubt what she meant.

"She actually isn't a whore, but she plays one on tv," he said, feeling lighter than he had in years. The chain around him was gone, sunk, shot dead.

He'd severed the connection between himself and Sofia Turner, as clearly as she'd done the same. And it felt right.

"I have a love interest for Nikki Heat. And a guarantee to do a week ride-along with the NYPD."

"With your muse."

"She really does play a whore. That's the amazing part. She's in Vice."

"And you're a writer, Rick. Come on. Seriously-"

"Let me send you the ending to Storm Surrenders - no, oh Storm's Final Stand. Last Stand. Storm's Last Stand."

"I can't believe you're doing this."

"And once you've wept, gotten over it, I'll send you the sixty pages I've got of Nikki. She's better than a golden goose. She's-"

"What?" Gina scathed, her sarcasm dripping over the line.

"She's for good. She's the last character I'll ever need. She'll be a best-seller from the first book out."

"Send me the chapters. Let me decide."

He'd send her the chapters, but it was already decided. He'd killed Storm because Storm was incapable of character growth.

But Nikki Heat. Oh, Nikki would be around for life. One character, one amazing, frustrating, challenging character and he was done.

Set for life.

One. And done.

* * *

She was actually _better_ at this the more she saw Rick Castle. Once a week wasn't enough to keep her brain from being dragged away by her imagination, so then it was twice a week. And why not? She was careful to come to his place after Alexis was in bed; she only showed up for dinner every other week.

In the back of her mind was a deadline - nintey days. She didn't let herself think about it.

It was working. She wasn't getting any sleep the days - nights - she saw him, but that was worth it. Beckett was much more in control when she had a hit of Castle the night before. He was almost better than caffeine.

Almost.

Yeah, okay, she'd give up caffeine for that mouth-

Whew, slow down, Beckett.

Kate didn't need her jacket but she kept it on as she walked the last block to his apartment building; they had weeks built up between them already and she still wanted it. That was an accomplishment in and of itself - she was still seeking him out.

She felt like an adult with a real relationship. Oh, he made her feel adult in so many-

He kept trying to arrange dates and museums trips and that kind of thing, but thankfully her job was a truthful excuse. And he couldn't bring Alexis with him to meet her at some seedy bar where she was checking liquor licenses, or on the corner while she was dressed as a prostitute. Of course not.

So she came to him, them - him. She came to him and left later and later every morning, sometimes barely making it out of his loft before Alexis thumped her way down the stairs. Yesterday was a close one-

Oh. Yesterday?

Beckett halted in the middle of the sidewalk.

Shit, sneaking out had only been yesterday morning. She spent last night at her own place and now she was coming back to him again with only a day in between. That would put her back here again on Friday and that would mean she'd spent three days this week at his place.

She resumed walking, not willing to go home now.

Well, she could just - not come Friday. Right. She could slip away Thursday morning - so early it still felt like Wednesday night - and then she could have a kind of long weekend without him, find him here again on Monday. Which meant four nights without-

She swallowed hard as she entered his lobby, tried to shrug off the chill that tumbled down her spine when she thought of spending four nights without.

"Evening, Miss Beckett," the door man said, nodding at her. Inside, the guard at the desk didn't even bother - he just waved her on and the elevators slid open the second she pressed the button. The guard had stopped buzzing upstairs when she came, so sometimes she could slip inside and surprise him.

Oh, right, yes, because she had a key now. Yeah, that hadn't even fazed her; it was just logical.

Kate pressed her fingers to the keys in the pocket of her uniform jacket, realized that she'd come straight from work again.

She had a key because sometimes he was writing and he didn't even hear the buzzer and once Alexis had gotten out of bed to let her inside. Which ruined Beckett's whole plan of keeping limited contact with his daughter so she wouldn't be. . .encouraging anything.

She had a key and she'd come straight from work and it was only Wednesday and this would make the second night this week already.

Still the elevator dragged her up and opened the doors like a mouth, spitting her out onto his floor.

Beckett hesitated in the hallway, hand gripping her keys, his key buried among them, and she wondered at how quickly it'd gotten here.

Oh, but the press of his body against hers, long and heavy and intrusive and demanding and-

the cup of his hand and the gentleness she saw sometimes in his eyes as he watched her-

and then she'd leave in the morning and he'd have gotten up while she was in the shower; he was scruffy and usually just in his pajama pants sitting at the computer and she'd get to watch him write, intense and single-minded until she touched him.

She couldn't stop.

She didn't want to stop.

* * *

When he realized she was there, his eyes drifted up from the computer screen and lazily perused her body. She'd come from work, so it was mostly that smooth blue line of her uniform, her coat already discarded somewhere, but her hair still up in its tight bun, her eyes dark and waiting on him.

"Hey," he murmured, watched her saunter into his study. She'd popped open the top three buttons of her uniform shirt, the black lace and cream of her bra peeked through.

"How much?" she asked.

"I have almost a hundred pages," he grinned back, swiveling his desk chair to give her an opening.

She took it, pushing one knee into the seat, rising up over him as she dragged her other thigh slowly across his lap, hard and sure. He lifted his hands and snagged her hips, yanked her towards him.

His mouth landed at the buttons of her shirt, and he nosed between the placket to take a deep breath. She sucked in a laugh, let it out slowly, her fingers curling at his head as she sank down to his knees.

"Hi," she said then, and her mouth was a knowing sliver of a smile.

"Did you get to cuff anybody?" he grinned, half-intoxicated by the work-scent of her.

She gave that humming sound, half laughter and half irritation. "No. But if you keep that up, maybe I will by the time the night is over."

He shifted his hips against her. "What, keep this up? Can do."

She actually did laugh at that, a surprised and throaty thing that was equal parts amusement and arousal. But she didn't drift in to the offering, didn't give her mouth or draw her hands down him. She sat back against his thighs and her eyes wandered to the view of the city beyond his windows.

He waited on her, drew his hands down her legs, back up, soothing instead of instigating. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head.

"Are they - do they not allow contact for the full ninety days?"

His brain scrambled to chase after her train of thought; it'd pulled away and he wasn't on board.

Ninety days.

"They don't - or rather, they do allow contact. So yes, he could get in touch with you." He didn't say _if he wanted to_, but they both knew it was implied.

She sighed and her fingers smoothed at the crease of his pant leg, over and over, her gaze still on the city skyline. The only light came from the crystal skull lamp on his desk, pale yellows that made her skin seem whiter than usual. Her fingers on him were nearly unbearable, but he wanted to banish the swirling apprehension in her eyes first.

"Do you want to go visit him on family day?" he murmured.

She jerked her eyes to his. "They have family day?"

Oh. Oh, Jim _really_ hadn't been in touch with her. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Every other Saturday."

"You didn't take Alexis," she murmured, as if absent-mindedly, and her fingers moved to the cuff of his dress shirt. He'd had serious meetings with the publisher and his agent about killing Storm.

"I didn't think it was a good idea," he said. "Meredith wasn't taking it very seriously."

"Why doesn't he want me there?" she said, then squeezed her eyes shut and tightly shook her head. "No. Never mind. I don't want to talk about it."

She leaned in and kissed him before she even finished speaking, pressing her hands to his chest, rocking her hips slowly against his.

He gentled her, cupped the back of her head, pressed his other hand at her spine to keep her still. He began a slow exploration of her mouth, a light stroke of his tongue at the roof of her mouth, behind her teeth, along the inside of her cheek. She leaned into it, tried to hurry him into movement, but he feathered his fingers at her neck, and she melted.

He brushed aside the hair that he swore had already gotten longer, at her shoulders and almost past, let his lips trail a kiss along the path of that bunching muscle. She took stuttering breaths and her hands seemed to want to reciprocate, drawing to the exposed part of his neck and stroking, trying to work around the buttons.

"I'll call the Dunes," he murmured. "Find out if it's this Saturday."

"Yeah? No. No," she said again. "No, I don't. . ."

When she sighed into silence, he removed his hands, started to work on the buttons of her uniform shirt. Suddenly she was so young, so very young, and he stilled, couldn't right now. not when she looked like this.

"Kate. You should go. We'll all go. Ease the way a little."

She was shaking her head, but her hands had fallen to his lap, inert, and he saw longing hidden in her eyes. If he hadn't been so adept at reading her, after nearly four weeks of this, he'd have missed it.

It was the look she gave him when he stepped out of the shower first. The look she had when she just missed dinner and he hadn't even cleared the plates from the table. She didn't want to, but she did.

"We'll go," he said finally, decided, and even though she was still shaking her head, he'd do it anyway. Another boundary she'd put in place for him, but which he would cross before she even realized it was done.

"I'm tired," she said suddenly, and her eyes slipped closed, her body tilting into his, heavy and warm at his chest.

She was so young, and he didn't know what he was doing with her, and she didn't either, but it was all he wanted now, everything, and if it came with all of this too - the hurt and her father and their combined immaturity and his want and her recklessness - then that was what he'd take.

So he cradled her to him and tangled his fingers in her hair, actually hoped she'd fall asleep.

They hadn't done much sleeping lately.

* * *

She woke up when he moved her, felt her body falling into his bed. She curled up when he came with her, shifted into his side. He didn't seem to like that, because he drew away, but then he was tugging off her shoes, unbuttoning her pants.

She roused long enough to help, shivered out of her uniform, confused by the tug of a smile on his face. He had her shirt off, cuffs catching on her wrists, and then she was sinking into one of his tshirts and sliding back down into his bed.

When he crawled in behind her, she was too heavy to move, but he molded her into him, his chest pressed to her back, his body draped over hers, and sleep was pushing her down with the weight of him.

* * *

He couldn't sleep. He watched her for a long time, and then when his eyes grew gritty, he closed them and let his body do all the reconnaissance.

Kate was lean but strong, and her limbs were angled along his in all the right places. She fit, like he was made to hold her, and even though she was in a ratty tshirt of his, she still smelled like Beckett - a faint hint of leather and steel, and then that musky perfumed-flower-fruit thing that he still couldn't identify. She had it even when she'd used his shower.

He pressed his nose to the back of her neck, felt the twitch of her jaw in sleep. He breathed in and dissected it like he would write it, tried to tease apart the individual strands of her scent.

There was the taste of her skin in the breath he held, and deeper than that was the impression of her hair, her clothes, even her hands. Arousal there too, leftover from the way she'd straddled him in his study. Murmurs of something underneath all of that.

Fruit but not fruity. Flower but not rosy. Not heavy either, but still a musk - not humid with it, just teasing the edges of his senses, light touches. It made him want to slide his hands over her body, cradle her, make her wake with a gasp. It made him want to taste her, roll his tongue around the fruit's pit and-

Cherry.

Cherry?

It was cherry. . .blossoms.

Kate Beckett smelled like cherries.

With that mystery solved, he fell asleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Vice**

* * *

She woke slowly, thick with unfinished desire and a deep sleep. Her eyes felt crusted over, her limbs heavy and trapped. She pressed her face into her pillow and sighed out a long breath, took a deeper one in.

Castle.

"Kate," he was murmuring.

She opened her eyes to find him hunched over her, out of bed, dressed. "Castle?"

"Uh, Kate. Beckett."

And then she was really awake. "What?"

He hedged, and that didn't look like a good morning kiss on his lips. She lifted up and pushed off the bed, tried to look past his shoulder but he looped an arm around her and brought her in close.

He smelled like toothpaste and maple syrup.

"Kate, it's nearly six."

Oh shit.

She scrambled to her knees and accidentally bumped into his chin; he huffed and rocked back, let her go.

"Sorry," she muttered, rubbing her head and trying to clear the shaky panic out of her blood. "Uh. Your - is Alexis-?"

"She's already downstairs. Early riser."

Kate nodded, avoided his eyes and the hesitance in them. She took a breath and scrubbed her hands down her face. "I have to be at work in an hour and a half."

"That's why I woke you," he murmured, and the fingers of his right hand circled one of her wrists and drew it down. "We forgot to set the alarm. The moment I realized-"

She wondered what the natural conclusion to that sentence was, could guess actually, and she didn't fight the sudden urge to prove him wrong. He was wrong. She wasn't that person.

"So," she started and uncurled her fingers, laced them through his. "I've got to shower. You making me pancakes?"

* * *

No pancakes, but he offered to make her some anyway, and she shook her head. He came back out into the kitchen while Kate took her shower, found Alexis reading a book at the bar.

"Hey, pumpkin," he murmured. "Kate's up."

"Hey, Dad," she murmured back, her eyes on the page. She might not have even heard him, so absorbed was she in the book. So that conversation was delayed a little bit.

He scanned his kitchen and figured he could make her eggs, toast, the usual. He and Alexis had cereal and fruit, and then on weekends he made big breakfasts for lunch, sleeping as late as they could and then lounging around until they got hungry.

"Alexis, you want some scrambled eggs? I'm going to make some."

"No."

"O-kay," he laughed and tapped the edge of her book, making it dip away from her eyes. She blinked and glanced up at him, let out a long breath like she'd been holding it.

She frowned. "Did you say Kate?"

"Yeah. She's taking a shower. You want anything else for breakfast? I'm going to make stuff."

"Can I have french toast?"

"Sure. Good idea." He moved to the fridge and pulled out the butter and eggs, flipped the stove top on with his other hand. He waited for Alexis to say more, but she didn't. He got ingredients together and started to work, found his own stomach opening up like a pit.

He wasn't sure if he was hungry or nervous.

He smelled her before she said anything, warmth and the faint impression of his soap and those cherries. And then he heard Kate take the bar seat beside his daughter, her soft-voiced good morning.

He stayed with his back to them, couldn't turn around if his life depended on it. He kept his eyes on the french toast, waited, didn't know what he should do at all, and this wasn't like any other-

Her arms around his waist made him jump, the press of her against his back made his heart pound. He glanced down, brought his hand to hers, covered it, felt her thumb stroke over his fingers.

He turned his head and found her kiss, surprise cascading through him like a warm bath, sluicing him clean.

"Good morning," she murmured.

When he opened his eyes, he saw she was proving something, she was fighting it hard.

For him.

He dropped the spatula and turned into her, wrapped both his arms around her and hung on, his chest tightening with the feel of her, unable to move away.

Over Kate's shoulder, he could see his daughter, still engrossed in her book, completely oblivious.

* * *

She was fine. It was fine. It was _easy_, and maybe that was what had her flipping out just a little bit.

She'd taken a shower just like she always had, dressed in her uniform pants and and another one of his shirts - she'd gotten a collection and really she needed to give them back, or bring her own clothes with her.

Pack a bag. Ohhh, no no - okay, leave that for later, Beckett.

She'd walked out into the living room and seen him making breakfast and Alexis reading her book, and it was just so easy. She slipped onto a bar stool and watched him resolutely not look at her, and then that pissed her off.

The so very tentative way he'd woken her this morning, the flash of nerves when she'd realized how late it was, and now he wasn't going to look at her?

So she'd gotten up and made him.

She might freak out big time later. But right now, it was just so easy.

How had it gotten to be so easy?

Alexis had to run back upstairs for her backpack; she'd forgotten it with her nose buried in her book. And then Kate had to leave first to make it to work on time from the subway; she had a spare uniform in her locker.

She'd left her gun and badge and everything else in there too, because she had probably known when she left she was coming straight here, somewhere in her subconscious. She'd pulled on her coat and said good-bye to Alexis, and then he'd walked her to the elevator.

She'd leaned in and kissed him, softly, an apology of sorts, and he'd taken it, his hand at her hip and hanging onto the pocket of her NYPD coat.

Like it happened every day.

And now she was going to throw up.

No. She wasn't. She just - she'd take this time in the subway to think about it, and she'd figure out what was going on, and she'd. . .know what the hell she was doing.

Except the whole subway ride went by and she never got any further than the way his back looked at the stove, so broad and thick and set _against_ her, and how she'd made him turn and hold her and come back to her. How she'd eased his mind and made everything okay.

She'd done that.

She'd never been able to do that for anyone.

* * *

He wasn't expecting her to come home - ah, back to his loft - that night, and he found himself surprised when he got her phone call.

"Hey," he said, heard the surprise in his voice.

"You've ruined me."

He let out a relieved laugh, a little concerned, but the bit-back amusement of her tone was enough to make him relax. He shook his head at Alexis and plucked the book out of her hands. "Homework," he murmured.

She snatched the book back. "Already done."

"Don't be smart with me," he warned, lifting an eyebrow at her. He could hear Kate suppressing her laughter on the other end. "And you. Don't encourage her."

"How am I encouraging her? She can't even see me. Or hear me."

"Is that Kate?" Alexis held her book against her chest, like a brat, but when he took it from her again, she let it go. "Ask Kate to make me that list."

"Kate. Alexis says you're supposed to make her a list."

"Oh, I forgot. I'll do that tonight. Tell Alexis to stop being mean and play with her Dad. I can tell you're lonely."

"Whose fault is that?" he muttered, but instead of repeating her to his daughter, he gave Alexis the phone. "You talk to her."

Alexis's face lit up and she grabbed the phone.

And then she ran off.

* * *

_I hate my life_, she texted,_ I have a case._

She erased it before she sent it, pulled her lip between her teeth as she studied her phone. She couldn't say that. Yes, it was true she wanted to come over tonight, but she was more excited about the case.

Montgomery had been the one to call her off the street, pull her into it. It was weird. She wasn't sure how to explain the sensation she got standing in the bullpen, watching the detectives, but it was-

a Homicide.

And she couldn't help but feel like that meant she was going to be promoted.

Beckett glanced at the rolling white board planted in the middle of the room, and then she stepped to one side, shifted until she had a modicum of privacy in amidst the members of the task force, and then she called him.

It rang and rang; she was sent through to his voicemail.

"Hey, it's me. I - I got assigned to a case. A homicide. I'm gonna be stuck here. I think it's - I don't know. I don't know, Castle, but it's. . ."

She sounded like an imbecile. She grit her teeth and hunched her shoulders, turned to give herself a little more quiet.

"I'll call you later. I've got to go."

She ended the call and pressed her phone to her chest.

A fourth murder only hours ago had created a task force.

And she was on it.

* * *

It had a flavor to it. Something that tugged at her.

She trailed her fingers over the photos on the board; it was dark in the bullpen and the lead detective was sitting at his desk, pouring over financial statements of their four victims. A serial killer perhaps, but it didn't quite feel like it.

She wasn't sure why. Intuition maybe.

"Officer Beckett."

She jerked her hand back from the board and turned around, heat licking her chest as she saw the Captain standing outside his office, briefcase in hand. "Sir."

"What are you still doing here?"

She shot her eyes past him to the clock mounted just above the cage, saw it was nearly one in the morning.

"I was-"

"She was helping me."

Beckett turned her head to MacMillan, kept her mouth shut as he stood up. Balding, a thickness to his chest that suggested a college football career, a paunch that meant he'd been behind the desk for a while.

"You did send her up here to get hands-on experience, didn't you, Roy?" MacMillan strode forward, slinging his coat on as he did. "But it's time to call it a night, kid."

Kate narrowed her eyes at the name, clenched her fists to keep from rising to the bait. Everyone knew Royce had called her that, everyone knew she'd taken him down her second day when they'd sparred together in the training room because of it too.

"Yes, sir," she said instead.

"Mac, you got a handle on this guy?" Roy said, already turning and leading them both out.

"Not exactly. To be honest, not at all. The m.o. is the same, but there are all these differences. Victim One was laid out in an alley, carefully poised, but Victim two - an alley again, sure, but the flowers? I don't get it."

Neither did Beckett, but she kept her mouth shut. It fascinated her - the flowers strewn in the alley like the woman had been wined and dined, compared to the third victim with her dress hiked up and looking like a prostitute even though she was an accountant.

"Looks like Beckett's already sucked down the rabbit hole," Detective MacMillan laughed. "What've you done to her, Captain? Doomed. She's doomed."

Beckett jerked her eyes away from the murder board as they waited on the elevator. "It's - these are people. They have families. They deserve to know what happened. Why."

"Don't so much care about why," the detective said, slapping his hand against his thigh as the elevator started down. "Just want to stop him."

Kate pushed her hands into her coat pockets; she'd been gathering her things to leave almost two hours ago, had come back up to the Homicide floor for one last look.

She wanted to stop him too.

She wanted to solve the puzzle, but more than that, she wanted to put back the broken pieces, fix things somehow, make it right again.

Find the guy who did it, and even though it wouldn't be right, it would ease the way.

She was startled to realize that it was the same feeling she'd had when she'd greeted Castle in the kitchen. Like things were made _better_ because of her.

* * *

He'd fallen asleep on the couch, not really intending to stay up and wait for her, but not going to bed either. He woke disoriented and scrubbed at his eyes, heard the door opening.

Castle lumbered up, blinking hard to focus on the DVD player's clock. Just past two. In the morning. Ouch, his neck was killing-

"You're up?"

He turned and shook his head at her, surprised to find her here, made a little dumb by the bag in her hand.

"Not, no. Fell asleep. Just woke up. What are you doing?"

She looked tired; she looked a little buzzed and jittery, but there was weariness under her eyes. "I - I just left the precinct."

He shook himself awake with an effort, reached out for her wrist. "Tell me. A case. I got your message; I was in a meeting with Black Pawn. You have a homicide?"

She nodded at him and her eyes shone with an animal brightness in the dark of his living room. He pulled her towards the hall, took the bag out of her hands.

"I wanted to leave for the precinct from here tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he mumbled.

"I'm on a task force."

"Saturday is family day," he said, frowning.

She froze in his hall; he stumbled into her back, barely catching himself.

"Castle. Maybe we should talk about - about. . .this. I'm good, surprisingly good with breakfast the other day, and I know. . .Alexis likes me, which is really good. But I'm not - I mean family day?"

He laughed, laughed because it wasn't funny at all, and pushed on her shoulder to get her moving. "Relax, Beckett. I meant at the Dunes. Family day is tomorrow. You could visit your dad. But the task force-"

She spun around, her cheeks flaming, but her eyes desperate. "Tomorrow? I could visit him tomorrow? But I can't. I can't. Work - I have to-"

"Hey, chill out. You can go in two weeks. He still hasn't invited you, has he?" Castle nudged on her shoulders, practically draped over her as he pushed her towards the bed. He was exhausted and conversations about her father's rehab were mingled in with a conversation about his family, her in his family, and he didn't have the brain power for that right now.

She was quiet, too quiet he realized, and he tried to figure out what he'd said.

"Kate?"

"I'm tired," she muttered, but she had a hold of his hand as she slumped into his bed, drew him down after her.

He was confused, but he'd learned that her _I'm tired_ meant she wasn't going to speak anymore. So he curled his arm at her shoulders only to have her shrug him off.

He sighed, eyes closing, but she was twisting into him, pressing her face against his neck, sliding her legs between his, shoving him back so that she was draped along his body.

"Kate?" he whispered, brushed his fingers through her hair.

"I don't - I don't know what to do. I know what I have to do. But I want - my dad."

"I know," he murmured. "But it really will be fine to go in two weeks. Let him have six weeks to feel strong, Kate. Maybe he'll invite you if you can just give him time."

She pressed her fingers into his collarbone, made her thumb brush the hollow of his throat. He swallowed at the sensation and then she was lifting up over him, her mouth at his but not touching.

"I missed you," she whispered, and claimed a kiss from him, and then so much more.


	22. Chapter 22

**Vice**

* * *

Beckett stared at her father's watch, traced the edge of the glass face to the stem, pulled it in and out, in and out, flicking it with her fingernail.

Castle had called the rehab center and actually found out the day she could go see her father, and yet here she was. At work. On a homicide task force.

Her skin was electric with the sense of purpose, of things happening, of real work being done. This was more than entrapment on a street corner, more than liquor licenses and illegal gambling - this was black and white, death and murder. This was where she craved to be.

And she'd discovered that it was more than just her mother's murder that pulled her in - it was everything else as well.

She pushed the stem of her father's watch back in and checked the time against the clock mounted above the bullpen. It held true, despite her messing around.

It kept time.

Beckett turned her concentration back to the paper trail, renewing her efforts with the victims' financials, the ones MacMillian had given up on last night. She could find something; she knew there was always something.

There was no such thing as the perfect murder.

"Beckett. Hey, kid, front and center."

She snapped to her feet, old habit, but came to where Detective Mac was huddled with two other homicide detectives around the white board.

"Yes, sir."

"Take a partner, head back down to victim two's place. I want you to re-canvas the neighbors. We're missing something on her timeline."

She let her eyes drift to the white board, her brain already supplying the woman's name. Margaret Pearson. 48. Divorced with a son in high school. She didn't have custody - previous drug habit.

Her timeline looked about as naked as her body had.

"Beckett."

"Yes, sir," she said, snapping her eyes back to Detective Mac. "I'll take Jarvis, sir."

"You do that," he muttered, already turning back to the board. "First rule, Beckett. Establish the timeline. We get enough information up there, we know enough to find her killer out there. No matter who it is."

Beckett let herself take one last look at the board, the timeline too blank to be helpful right now. But not unknowable. Someone out there knew where she'd been and what she'd done.

Someone.

* * *

She hadn't come back to him all weekend, and not Monday either. Castle got random emails, a text on Sunday morning entirely too early, and a phone call Monday afternoon while he was in meetings with Black Pawn, arguing over the mortality of Derrick Storm.

He wasn't sure where Tuesday went - part of it was spent defending himself from Gina - but Wednesday was quickly turning into a minute by minute self-doubting agony.

It'd been too long. She said something about the task force and the timeline, whatever that was, and he wanted in on it. In on her, on the details, the murder and the case and her job and what she was doing and could he follow?

He needed to chill. But he'd just dropped Alexis at school, and he wanted to see her - Kate. He was tired of being cool, relaxed, the man behind the confident, working woman. He wanted to see her, and so what if she knew he was a little desperate? For her or for the story, he didn't know. Maybe a lot of both.

So he called on his way to the 12th and hoped she'd answer before he just showed up looking for her.

Meanwhile, he needed an excuse.

* * *

"Where are you?" she asked, breathless. "I don't see you and it's freezing out here. Get your ass-"

"I see you. What a dirty mouth you have, Beckett."

"Only when I'm cold," she muttered, shivering as the wind tore down the alley. "Hurry, Castle. You promised coffee."

"And here it is," he said, and it was the rich and vibrant tones of his voice in stereo - through the speaker of her phone and now right at her side. She turned and smiled at him, huddling into her turtleneck and uniform.

"Mm, finally," she muttered, grabbing the coffee from him and taking a long gulp.

"Where's your coat, Beckett?" But he scraped a hand through her hair and nosed aside her cup, pressed his mouth to hers for a quick, insistent kiss.

She laughed, her cup against his cheek as if for privacy in the street, and her lips came against his once more, and then again, soft little kisses that belied her official demeanor.

"Coat's in the car. I just got back. Doing another round of interviews. We're so close on this case and if I can help - if I get my name in the credits, Castle-"

"You're already a shoo-in for detective," he said, wishing she'd let him go up with her, be in the middle of it, wishing he had the right to ask.

"Yeah, but if I'm in on this? Then no matter what people say about the Captain, about you, won't matter. I'll have proved myself."

He blinked. "What people say about me?"

She took another gulp of coffee, and he saw the shadows under her eyes. "You know, about following me. I mean - well, I assume you're still-"

He stared at her, laughed. "Oh yeah, I still. Most definitely. But people are talking?" Yeah, he probably shouldn't ask her to let him upstairs and take a peek at that timeline, huh?

She shrugged and her eyes shifted away, the coffee coming up again.

"Kate."

She sighed. "Not - a little. Some heard about it. But mostly it's just - old stuff. My training officer retired, and now the Captain. . ."

When she didn't finish, when he saw the look in her eyes, his baser instincts took over, no matter how immature it was. He shifted to plant himself in front of her, crowding her, and slid his hand up to her neck, pulling her in against his chest.

"What're you-"

"Blocking the wind, Beckett." But he wasn't only, and he knew it. He was claiming her the only way available to him.

She gave him a look, brow furrowed, but knocked back another gulp of coffee. The alley where she'd met him was actually crowded with police cars - squad and unmarked - and uniforms and detectives came and went, not giving them a second glance.

He felt her hand rest against his chest, and he glanced down, surprised at it. She was lightly scratching at him with her nails, downing her coffee like it was going out of style.

"Slow down there, Beckett. You'll choke."

She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the coffee cup dangling from her fingers. "I need it."

"Have you slept?"

She shrugged. "Enough."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Enough, Castle. I'm not an idiot."

"You look tired, Kate."

"Well, yeah I'm tired. It's eight in the morning and I've been here since five."

"Five?"

"I had defensive drills this morning. Really, I got enough sleep, Castle. Why do you think I haven't been over to your place?"

He gave a short laugh, saw her smirking at him. "Yeah, okay. Got it."

"Soon as we clear this case, I'm back."

"Come tonight. I'll be good. Just sleep."

She shrugged, but he could see it appealed to her.

"Promise," he sighed, giving in and kissing her again because this had been a nice distraction, but he still needed to know, needed to make sure he wasn't somehow ruining her professional life. "What'd you mean about the Captain, and your training officer?"

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, looking at him intently. "Castle."

"I'm curious."

"You're jealous."

"That too." Mostly that they got to be in there with her, see her at work, and he didn't.

She laughed, patting his chest with her fingers. "That's cute. To a certain extent. But don't let it run away with you. It's not attractive when it's suffocating." As if to prove her point, she stepped away from him, eyebrow raised.

He sighed, ready to give her back to the 12th, to the world he wanted in on, but she shivered hard and came in again, brushing against him.

He laughed, curling an arm around her and rubbing her back. "Kate?"

"Too cold to prove a point," she muttered. "Shut up and enjoy it."

* * *

She didn't have a mug, but she had the disposable coffee cup he'd brought her this morning. She refilled it, mixed in the vanilla creamer she scrounged from the fridge and walked back into the Vice bullpen.

She'd done her Vice shift like she was supposed to, and then she'd come up here hoping to add an extra body to the case. The task force was stalled out; Detective Mac seemed to be waiting on another victim to drop.

Beckett kept her fingers wrapped around the thin cardboard cup and sipped slowly as she eyed the white board. She didn't dare get too close, not when it was only seven o'clock at night and so many of the detectives were still around, but she did study it.

The problem was that the timelines were numbered one through four, the mean details crabbed into a tiny quarter space. She didn't like that. Each victim ought to have her own murder board; they were separate incidents, separate crimes, even if perpetrated by one man.

And names. Their names should be up there, plainly written. Their photos. Keep the victims human, present. Make them real. Everyone would work harder if it was personal.

It reminded her, weirdly enough, of Castle's character sketch. She'd seen the Nikki Heat collection he'd started with index cards and a permanent marker - each little detail of her own personality examined and put in a neat little box. It was chilling, and unnerving, and he'd managed to get so much so very right.

And yet - for Nikki Heat - what she'd read of those index cards? - it wasn't the same. He took her behaviors, ferreted out most of her driving forces, and then he'd remolded them, recreated them, shifted one thing here or there to make Nikki different. All it took was a slightly different detail, and the whole story changed.

How much of these murdered women were they just _not_ seeing, all because of one or two pieces of skewed information? Assumptions made because, for example, the detectives working the case were all men?

A rush of awareness fell over Beckett and she wondered if it could be that easy.

She was drawn inexorably towards the white board, her hands still around the coffee cup, her bottom lip between her teeth, and she took in each victim, one after another.

"Beckett?"

She didn't turn to look at Detective Mac, she just tilted her head and released her coffee with one hand, held it out. "Can I see - the crime scene inventory lists?"

"You got something?" Mac said, but he willingly handed over the thick stacks on their four victims. Kate had to put her coffee down to juggle them, and she was immediately flipping it open, scouring the photos first and then matching them to the list of items inventoried at the crime scene.

"Where's. . ."

"Beckett, spit it out," he growled.

She lifted her eyes. "It might be nothing. But - all four women were carrying medium sized purses. Only the items left at the scene. . ."

"What? What is it?"

She glanced back down, took a breath. "It's not nearly enough."

"What are you talking about?"

When she looked up, she realized she'd gained a little audience. Shit. This better be worthwhile and not just smoke.

"Think about your wife's purse - your wives?" Mac wasn't married but some of the others were concentrating now at least. "Shit load of stuff, right?"

"That's for sure," Jarvis muttered. Kate shot him a grateful look.

"Yeah, really, an older woman like Pearson, with a kid she sees regularly even if she doesn't have custody, she'd have a ton of junk in her purse. An accumulation of a life. But the inventory report shows a wallet, bus pass, phone, and keys. No lipstick, no travel sized pain reliever, no tampons-"

A collective groan at that, but she knew she'd made her point. Jarvis was smirking at her too - the closest she'd get to a thumbs up.

"My question is - where's the rest of it? Same with the other three. They've been whittled down to the bare essentials - it must have gone somewhere."

She wasn't even finished when Detective MacMillan yanked the files out of her hands and started pulling the inventory sheets, tacking them to the white board with magnets that slapped them into place. He was already assigning detectives to run down family members for detailed lists of purse contents, and when he got to the Pearson woman, he crooked his finger at Beckett.

"You. Go with Detective Weiss. Ask some more of your crazy questions."

She turned to follow Weiss, careful to keep her face neutral, blank of all expression, but behind her she could hear Mac assigning dumpster duties to the rest of the uniforms on the task force.

It'd been so long that most of them wouldn't have to actually go dumpster diving, more like search for last known dump after local pick-up, but still-

Still.

Beckett was with the detectives.

* * *

She didn't come Wednesday night, but she texted Thursday morning with an apology - she fell asleep at the precinct. He didn't love it, but he understood, and it was what she did, what she wanted to be doing, and he wanted her to do it.

He just wanted to be there too.

Patience. He was learning a lot of damn patience when it came to Kate Beckett.

He walked Alexis to school and then headed for Black Pawn at the summons of his agent. He was entrenched in meetings, the publicist showed up - a shrill, red-headed woman named Paula who he couldn't quite get a handle on, and then he went another round with all three women about killing off Derrick Storm.

"Okay fine," Paula said finally, slapping her hand down on the wood of the table. "You've killed him. I get it. You know this means we've got to hype it. Do it up big for the release. That means I need to see your mug all over page six."

He groaned, but he was surprised that he'd gotten her on his side. She was new; she was grating as hell, but she seemed to know what she was doing. "What do you mean for me to do?"

"There's a charity thing - I don't know what it is, but Gina said Black Pawn's a sponsor. A reading program for kids or illiterate adults, I don't know. Doesn't matter. You're going. And bring some arm candy with you."

Gina was giving him knowing looks, and he pointedly ignored her.

"I don't want to-"

"Too late, buddy. You killed Derrick Storm. This is what we've got to do. We'll pimp you out at every gathering, every event, and then when they're salivating for you, baby, we'll yank the rug right out from under them. Always leave 'em wanting more."

And he hated to admit it, but she had a point. Build up a frenzy for Derrick Storm and then when he released the new series, it would sell on desperation alone.

Castle rubbed at his jaw. "All right. Okay. When's the event?"

"Tomorrow night."

Shit. There was no way Kate would go with him - not in two weeks, and most definitely not tomorrow. They were - he assumed - lying low until she got the promotion, until she built up some respect and had firmly established her merit in their eyes. A splashy page six event wasn't the way to do that.

"Paula. Tomorrow? I can't - who am I supposed to get this last minute for my date?"

"Gina's already going; you two go together. Looks good, people like to speculate, and in the end, it's just business. Works perfectly."

He lifted his eyes to Gina, sitting across the table.

Oh jeez. He'd have to make it clear, abundantly clear, what was and wasn't going on here.

Just business.

* * *

Beckett checked MacMillan's press release - someone had said he'd alluded to her insight as a break in the case - while she ate a quick breakfast before work that Saturday morning, detouring to skim the sports page before she headed to the crime report.

She found Castle instead.

Smiling, a beautiful blonde on his arm that the paper named as a representative of his publisher.

She remembered hearing her phone yesterday - the day before? - and realized she hadn't called or texted him since Thursday.

Her breath caught in her chest as she scrambled for her phone, but something eased when she saw three messages from him.

The last said he was headed out to a work thing, and asked her to come by when she could.

Beckett sank down at her kitchen table, phone in her hand, and had to take a minute to remember how to breathe.

She refused to speculate. Refused.

She knew better.

* * *

"She's pretty."

Castle didn't understand the comment, but he grinned at her as he opened the door to Beckett on Monday night. "Hey."

She was shrugging out of her coat - dressed in jeans, a soft sweater - he hadn't seen her in ages. "The woman you took to that work thing. She's pretty."

Ah. Gina. "If you like that type," he shrugged. This could work out in his favor or blow up horridly.

"Not your type?" Kate asked, letting him take her coat as he shut the door, but still eyeing him like some deadly predator she'd knowingly cornered.

"'You're my type, darling. Lanky brunettes with wicked jaws.'"

She laughed at that, thank goodness. "I guess the next line is what? Something like, what about the red-head I saw you with last night?"

He grinned wider, his heart easing at the humor in her eyes. "You know Dashiell Hammett."

She nodded. "Thin Man. I've read that one at least."

"I figured you had, what with your extensive knowledge of noir fiction - even children's."

She smiled again, lifted her hand to his shirt, fingers flicking at the top button and popping it open. "And the red-head is where?"

"Asleep."

She hummed at him, eyes darkening, and stepped in closer. "Good," she murmured. "All to myself."

"Jealous, Beckett? It really was just a work thing. I figured we should keep this quiet so you-"

"I know," she said quickly, but her eyes trained on the skin she was revealing slowly, just that one hand working at his buttons. "But doesn't mean I don't want you to myself. Remind you."

"Believe me; it was painfully obvious all night that I'd rather it'd been you. How's the case?"

"Good, actually. I think we're close," she said, and then she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his skin, hot and wet, shutting down all other thoughts about the case.

He shuddered and drew his hands up, clutched her arms to keep her there or push her away, he didn't know. He sucked in a breath and felt her riding against his rising and falling chest. She drew her teeth against his collarbone.

"Kate," he whispered, his body rigid with the effort of holding back. He hadn't meant to tell her how much he'd wished she'd been there, but she seemed to like it anyway. "Kate, I've missed you."

But she pushed on him, nudging him with her hips. "Shut up, Castle. I'm taking you to bed, taking what's mine."

Oh hell yes.


	23. Chapter 23

**Vice**

* * *

She called him from the road, her heart pounding. He answered immediately.

"Castle," she rushed in, ignoring his greeting. "We've got him. We just got him."

"What?"

"We just-"

"The murderer? You mean that serial killer-"

"Yes," she breathed out, pressed into the back of the SWAT van as it rumbled towards the precint. "We just got him."

"Wow."

They were silent together over the phone, breathing in the thrill, until she was jostled by the SWAT team member next to her as they went over a bump. She let out a long breath.

"Wanted you to know," she said quickly, thinking she should hang up.

"Wait. How? When?"

"Can't say much right now," she murmured. "But we raided his apartment. It was - amazing."

He let out a choked laugh; she could feel her energy touching his, the crackle of it. She'd known he'd get it, he'd understand. No one else would. Her father never-

"Are you done there?"

"Almost," she answered. It was like she'd seen a damn sunrise for the first time, but she couldn't help herself.

"Come home."

"Yeah," she murmured, felt it singing in her blood, triumph and arousal both.

"I want to hear all about it."

"Yes." She wanted to tell him.

* * *

Paperwork and the camaraderie of her fellow task force members, a couple beers passed around the locker room, and it was done.

She'd watched MacMillan process the arrest, saw the skinny, gangly man being led in handcuffs towards lock-up, but it was over. The case was closed. And then Mac came by personally to her station in Vice and congratulated her.

"It was the cosmetics, you know."

She didn't nod, but she knew it.

"I'm recommending you for detective." He didn't look at her, seemed to be speaking to the wall, but she'd found that was his style.

"Thank you, sir."

"If it wasn't for those missing items in the purses. . ."

She nodded then, took the praise for what it was but tried not to let it go to her head.

"Captain said you'd be good."

"I'm just glad I could contribute."

"More than, Beckett." But he didn't stay to let her comment; he moved off for the elevator and left her there.

One of the guys nudged her; she turned to him and shoved him back.

"Looks like you're moving up, Baby Beckett."

She punched him hard for that.

* * *

When Castle found her at his door, his heart leaped in his throat.

"Beckett."

She was vibrating with it, pulsing with the current of the arrest; he could see her fingers trembling against her thighs. She was filled with details he wanted just as badly as he wanted her body. Hot - the entire package.

"Tell me," he urged, tugging her inside.

"When do you have to pick up Alexis?" she murmured, and her voice was charged.

"An hour. I have an hour-"

She canted towards him, her hands snagging his jaw and bringing his mouth roughly to hers. Her body was a static generator, drawing the lightning of his arousal into her, absorbing it and putting off fingers of electricity all through him.

"Kate," he groaned. "The arrest."

"The arrest," she gasped, rocking her hips into his, pushing him back down the hall. "It was - we raided his apartment."

"Yeah?" he murmured, licking at the column of her throat, scraping his teeth at the sharp protrusion of her larynx. She shivered and he could feel the thrumming heat of her against him. "How'd you get him?"

"It was me," she moaned. "It was my - I did it."

"Oh damn," he muttered against her skin, felt her already arching against him, so close.

"The purse - what I told you about their missing items? And we tracked down where they'd bought their cosmetics, this little store near Union Square-"

He bit at her jaw, felt her throat working as she swallowed another sound, wrapped his fingers around her neck to hold her where he wanted her. But she was dragging him back towards his bedroom, her hands working at shedding their clothes even as she breathlessly filled him in.

"Store owner?" he encouraged, felt the jerk of her hips into him at his voice.

"No - no," she stuttered, knocked them both into the doorway and then beyond, tripping for his bed. "Employee. Stalked them from there. Had their make-up all lined up on his bathroom counter; he was - oh shit, yes-"

He grinned into her skin, kept it up, thumbs stroking, her body shimmying against his as she tried to keep talking, tried to get them moving.

"You feel so good," she whispered.

"He was what?" he prompted, hiked her thigh on his hip as he pressed her down to the bed.

"Trying it on, oh yes, Castle-"

"Their make-up?" He sucked at the thin skin at the v of her shirt, spread it open to see all of her. "He was trying on their make-up."

She groaned and grabbed for him, fused their mouths together with an insistent pull of her hands, push of her lips, and he sank into her body, pressing firmly as if he could absorb the aroused heat of her directly into him through their skins.

"They're gonna make me a detective," she said suddenly, her hands stroking against his cheeks, into his hair, the fierceness sublimated into a tenderness that made him pause.

"Of course they are."

She met his eyes, her browns suddenly alive with an olive shimmer that had him mesmerized. He stroked his hand up her side, cupped her jaw with a brush of his thumb, and then leaned over her to kiss her softly.

She gave it back, deepening the kiss until all he could feel was the wild welcome of her body.

* * *

"Did you do the actual taking-down part?"

She laughed and shook her head, stuffed another slice of apple in her mouth, her knee drawn up against her chest. "No. But I was there."

"Ooh, did you touch the guy that did the take-down? And now I can touch you. . .?"

Kate lifted her head from her snack at the bar, rolled her eyes at him. When did that leer of his get so delectable? "Keep it down, hot stuff. She's just upstairs."

"She has no idea," he scoffed, pulling peanut butter out of the pantry and unscrewing the top. He'd made Alexis an afternoon snack; she'd decided to wait on him at his loft, stuck around until he and his daughter had gotten back from school.

Not really sure why she had, she just - she was still buzzed.

She watched him scoop peanut butter into a little dish, slightly amazed that he had tiny bowls for peanut butter that fit into the plate of apple slices. She stole another apple and he slapped at her hand, but arranged everything to compensate for the lost piece.

"I'll be right back down," he murmured, heading towards the stairs. "You should probably take those pants off again."

She choked on the apple and gave him a glare as he chuckled, mounting the stairs slowly, his eyebrows dancing at her.

"Keep dreaming."

He sighed at the top of the stairs. "It's not fun if you give me permission, Beckett."

* * *

"What is it with you and handcuffs?" she laughed, shoving him away from her with her feet. He snagged her ankles and sat on the couch with her, propping her feet in his lap, fingers kneading her calves in a lovely, amazing way.

"I keep a spare key on me. I'm always looking for a chance to use it, just to make it worthwhile."

Kate gave a laugh for that (it felt like surrender) then sighed and closed her eyes, took in a deep cleansing breath. This day, the excitement, the strange thrill of having him, their bizarre but tantalizing conversation.

"Still. I wanna know. I wish I'd been there. Will you do that kind of thing a lot?"

She slitted her eyes and watched him for a moment, struck by how different this was with him, how eager he was for details and how hot for her bad-assness. "If we solve the case, then yes. I'd be arresting murderers, Castle."

"Awesome."

"I haven't been promoted yet," she cautioned, wriggling back into the leather. He had a laptop - that was new - propped on one arm of the couch, but he kept putting off the writing.

"But you will be," he said easily. "Sure thing."

"Don't jinx it."

He shot her a startled, swift look, amusement in his eyes. "Oh?"

Kate growled and drew her legs up, sat forward on her knees to grab his laptop. His eyes darkened, but his daughter was upstairs doing her homework, eating her snack, and really, they shouldn't.

That made it all the more tempting.

She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, silencing his unceasing questions, his eager knowledge; she smudged that cocky grin with a delicious swipe of her tongue that had him pulling her across his lap.

"Can I be there next time?" he murmured at her lips, fingers already slipping inside her shirt.

"No, Castle."

"I want to watch you," he whispered.

Oh shit.

"Maybe later. Not with your daughter upstairs."

He laughed into her kiss, the rumble of his surprise echoing through her, and his teeth snagged her bottom lip.

"I'll hold you to it."

* * *

She was lying beside him while he wrote, both of them on top of the covers in bed, her fingers playing at his knee. He knew she hadn't gotten much sleep the past few weeks, her time sucked up by that task force, so he was glad she was dozing off and on.

She needed to take a few days. He doubted she would, but. . .

So Castle brought it up. "You want to see your dad this weekend?"

She was silent for a long time, but she sat up, eased her body next to his, her hand coming to play at his neck, the curve of his jaw. He didn't think she meant it to be arousing, but it was, she was.

His pulse pounded hard; he had to grip the laptop to keep it from sliding.

"You're different," she said slowly, her finger now brushing his mouth back and forth like she didn't know what to do with him.

He kissed her fingertips, tried to figure out what that had to do with her father. "What?"

But she didn't explain, just kept going. "Never done this before, but I wish I'd done it differently. Done it right. If I had a second chance, Castle, I'd have waited. Waited to get this right."

"What are you talking about?" he said, a mule-kick to his heart.

"I didn't know how messed up I was. Still am. I am messed up, Castle, and the only thing that even halfway holds me together is my job."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she rushed on, pressing her fingers lightly against his lips.

"I thought I'd figured out how to live with it. I thought I just walled it up and kept going, because I have to, because I have to be a cop, be a detective, solve her case. I have to. But now there's you."

He stayed silent, watched her struggle. He didn't know what to say to that. She closed her eyes and now pressed the heel of her hand into her socket, like she didn't want to see him, didn't want him to see her, not really, not any longer.

"I didn't wall it up," she said finally. Her voice was thick. "I walled me up. I walled me up, Castle, and I didn't even know it until you."

He wanted to touch her, push past it, but he didn't dare. Because she'd taught him how messed up he was too, and he was trying to learn how to be patient. How to wait.

She finally lowered her fist, swiped a thumb under her eye, gave him a faint smile. "I don't know how to do this. Family. I don't know anymore. I don't even know how to go see my dad, but I want to so much."

"That's got to count for something," he murmured, because he knew she was talking about them too. That she wanted it so much but she didn't know how to do it.

"Does it, though?" She shrugged at him and turned to lie on her back, her eyes on the ceiling. He kept his on her, finally reached out to stroke a finger down the inside of her bicep, over the crook in her arm, down to circle her wrist.

"It does to me. It counts."

She lifted her hand to her face again, and it shook off his touch. She spoke with her eyes still covered, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "I don't know if I can go to family day. I don't know if I can do it. If they're thinking about promoting me, I've got to be there."

And he let her keep that excuse because he didn't want to hear her excuse for them, for not doing them.

Because this certainly felt like the beginning to a break-up, like a dry-run for her good-bye.

And he didn't want to hear it.


	24. Chapter 24

**Vice**

* * *

_props to Cora Clavia - and many thanks for her permission - for the Writer's Method story which inspired portions of this chapter_**  
**

* * *

It was late afternoon now. Some of the insistent post-arrest buzz had faded from her blood, left her in a kind of drugged coma in his bed until she could pull herself to consciousness.

Kate pushed away sleep and turned onto her side, watched him for a moment in the heavy light. He'd put the laptop away, had fallen asleep sitting up. He didn't look restful; a frown creased his forehead, and his hand was clenched into a fist at his hip.

She angled her head and kissed the inside of his wrist, saw the twitch of his frown deepen to include his mouth. Not at all what she was going for. So she drew her fingers into the scalloped edge of his palm, loosening his fist, drawing his hand flat and soft. The frown vanished, and she brushed her lips over his open palm.

He shifted and sighed, the line eased a little. Kate moved into him, slid a hand over his hips to curl up against him. Another long breath was pulled from him and she smiled to herself, let her body relax next to his.

It was early yet. They had some time.

* * *

She woke and found him missing from bed, rubbed the sleep from her eyes before dragging herself into the bathroom. Afterwards she went looking for him, found him, of course, in his study at the computer.

But it was still the new computer. Laptop, sleek and light; it rested on his propped up thighs and he was writing in the chair opposite his desk, the comfortable one she'd often sank into herself.

"Hey," she murmured, felt the unattractive gravel of her voice and had to clear her throat. "Morning."

He lifted his head to her with a blush, his eyes not meeting hers. "Uh. More like early evening."

"Catching up on sleep," she admitted, glanced to the clock. Not quite seven. She'd needed it, but she'd been restless enough to wake up when he was gone. But maybe he wanted her out of here - get his space back finally? "Well."

"Yeah, sorry. Did I wake you? I was just. . .writing."

She reevaluated the situation based on that look - a little shamed, caught in the act almost - not the irritation she'd expected, not the sense of a guest overstaying her welcome. She studied him, the tension in his body, his fingers hovering protectively over the keys, and then she strode forward rapidly, intent on seeing his screen.

He slammed the laptop shut and jerked his legs off his desk, sat up straight.

She stared at him. "Castle?"

"Uh. Yes?"

"What are you writing?"

"Just. Nikki."

She shifted to stand in front of him, dropped her hands down to the arms of his chair so she crowded him close. He stared up at her, his breathing a little fast, and she realized his pupils were dilated, nearly swallowing whole the blue of his eyes.

"Castle," she murmured slowly, watched the flare of reaction there. "What about Nikki?"

He swallowed. "Just - she arrested someone. Like you. Wanted to get it down while the details were fresh."

Beckett braced herself on his chair and leaned in, let him see down the wide neck of her shirt, and brought her mouth close to his, her breath painting his lips.

"Rick," she said on an exhale. "Was it. . .kinky?"

She heard the quick intake of his breath, felt the shift of his body like he was trying to keep his hips still. She grinned, but her blood jumped at the thought. Kate slid her hands to his laptop and he let it go easily, only made a soft noise when it left his fingers.

She put it on the desk behind her, came back to straddle him.

"Sooo," she drawled, caught his gaze. "Nikki arrested someone and then? You wrote a sex scene? Did you write about what we just did, Castle?"

He blinked hard and his hands seemed to clench on her hips without his say; he swallowed again and seemed to fight for words. Still he said nothing.

"Was it good for you?" she murmured.

He growled and lunged for her mouth, hot and hard, stroking his tongue inside like desperate punishment. She snaked an arm around his neck to keep him there, let her other hand drift down.

He sucked in a gasp through the kiss, his hips bucking, and she grinned against his teeth, nipped his bottom lip.

"There a lock on your study door?" she said.

"You're cruel," he panted, kissed her again, smudging her lips with the force of his. "Damn open shelves. Terrible idea."

"Then be quick, Castle. Dinner time soon."

He groaned into her mouth and she knew she had him.

He was already lifting from the chair to take her back into the bedroom.

* * *

"Can we go to the Met?" Alexis asked, chewing slowly on her veggie burger.

Castle shrugged at her. "Well, sure. Of course. We-"

Alexis tilted her away from him, looked instead to Kate. "I meant with you. All three of us. Is that okay? I want to go the Met like Claudia in the book."

He shot a glance to Kate, begging wordlessly, but she wasn't looking at him.

Kate was studying his daughter. "Doesn't Claudia run away from home? Hope that's not what you had in mind."

Castle breathed out fast, sucked in another gulp of air.

"No," Alexis laughed. "Not running away. It's just made me want to go."

"Castle, how flexible are you guys?" she asked, finally lifting her gaze to him.

He saw when she finally realized how tense he was, how he'd nearly bitten his tongue to keep from begging her to be gentle with his little girl.

She startled, her hand uncurling on the table as if reaching for him. But she didn't; she withdrew, cast a swift look to Alexis, then down to the plate, frowning.

"We're - we're flexible. You get a chance to go, we'll go." But he held his breath again because she looked seriously pissed at him for doubting her, and she should be, she should, but that conversation this afternoon has really just unmade him.

Alexis wriggled in her seat, shot a beaming look to Kate. "That'll be so much fun. Oh thanks, Kate. I can't wait."

She gave a short smile to Alexis. "Yeah. Sounds good."

Kate went back to her dinner - she'd even helped him make it; he put her in charge of the sweet potato fries and she'd baked them to crisp perfection. And here he was expecting her to shut down his daughter and hurt her, and what the hell was wrong with him?

Where had his confidence gone? She made him a mess because it felt so vital that she stay, that she _like him back_, and normally he didn't care so much.

But he'd hurt her feelings, hadn't he? By not trusting her just now. He had to fix it, had to think of some way to make it right.

"What are you doing this weekend?" he blurted out. "We can go to the Met, and then we can drive up and visit your Dad, stay at my house."

Alexis gasped. "Oh. Oh, the beach? We can go to the beach with Kate?"

And there it was. Kate - cornered animal in her eyes - brought that fierce and furious look straight to him.

"I don't know," she said slowly, and he realized he'd set her up for failure.

Damn it. He couldn't do this right at all. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I'm sorry. Forget it. I wasn't thinking-"

"I'll try," she interrupted, and she wasn't looking at Alexis, she was looking at him.

She was trying for him.

Maybe for herself too.

"Okay," he accepted. "Then. We'll be. . ."

"Flexible," Alexis said with decided relish. "We're flexible. Right Dad?"

"Right."

* * *

She liked the morning light in her apartment, the way it pushed right through the windows over the kitchen sink and tripped out along the floor, spreading and overcoming every dark corner.

But the evening cityscape, the way the night pressed against Castle's windows and the way the lights were carved into it, like the view was an ornate piece of jewelry displayed on velvet, gemstones glittering at every right angle - she liked that too. Better sometimes.

She missed her own space, but she missed his too.

Beckett dropped her bag outside her closet, promised herself she'd go through it later, then padded back down the hall towards the kitchen. She'd showered at his place, but it was still early enough that she had time to grab breakfast before she needed to change.

Only she was out of orange juice, all the fruit had shriveled, and her loaf of bread had grown mold. She spent too much time at the 12th lately, and when she wasn't there, she was at Castle's.

Beckett set the coffee to brew and moved back to her bedroom, her bare feet soft on her wooden floors, catching dust and dirt. She hadn't managed to clean the place in a month either. Or do anything here, really.

She snagged the covers and pulled them straighter on the bed, then went to her closet and found a clean uniform top. She was wearing the pants, but she'd worn one of his Lacoste shirts home with her; she'd gathered a collection.

Beckett pulled the shirt off and slipped on her uniform turtleneck, then the shirt, buttoning it up quickly. She felt the rumble of her phone and slid it out of the bag, answered without looking at the number.

"You left it here," he said without greeting.

"What?" Beckett glanced at her bag, frowned.

"Your dad's watch."

She went still.

"Kate? I'll meet you at the station after I drop Alexis off at school."

"O-okay." She'd left her father's watch? "Where'd I leave it?"

"On my dresser."

She didn't even remember doing that, didn't remember taking it off. "Thanks."

He hung up without saying anything more and she slowly put the phone down on the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

She'd left it.

And where was her mother's ring?

Beckett hurried to the box and flipped it open, felt her heart ease as she saw the long chain, the small diamond wedding ring.

She hadn't left that, at least. It was safe.

* * *

He brought coffee with him, and this time she let him in the lobby of the 12th, met him just outside the security checkpoint. He handed her the cup and she lifted on her toes to kiss him - quickly, a little cool, but her hand squeezed his bicep and stayed there as she rocked back to her feet and sipped her coffee.

Castle dug into his coat pocket and pulled out her watch; she took it from him, glancing at it, hesitation on her face as she stared down at it.

"Here," he murmured, taking the coffee back from her to free up her hands. His first instinct was to take the watch, put it on her himself, but that seemed a little much, standing in the lobby of her workplace.

"Thanks," she said back, fastening it deftly, straightening the watch face to align perfectly at her wrist. He touched the round ridge of her bone with a finger.

"You look hassled," he said, his voice pitched low to keep it from carrying in the vaulted space.

"Feel hassled," she muttered, lifting her eyes to him with a roll. Her shoulders slumped but she knocked back another hit of caffeine and straightened up. "Thanks for this."

"The watch? Sure-"

"The coffee," she smiled, tilting her head at him as if surprised. "And the watch too, yeah. But you showed up bearing gifts."

He grinned back at her, couldn't stop his fingers from lifting to her face, scraping back the thin line of a hair that had caught at her coffee-dampened lips. She licked them as it left; he tucked it back into her bun but he couldn't avert his eyes from her mouth.

"This time we're inside," he said finally. "I'm getting closer and closer."

She smirked at him. "No, it's just getting colder and colder."

"Ah, I get it. My body's not hot enough for you?"

She did laugh at that, her eyes smiling even through the press of her lips as she tried to hold back her amusement. He liked that - the professional mask of her face as she shuttered off that part of herself. The part he got to see, the part he was allowed to know. The part no one here was privileged to witness.

He'd gotten inside. Not just the 12th, but her as well.

"Friday," she said suddenly and flexed her hand around his arm. "Can you guys pick me up here? I'll change into street clothes in the locker room."

"Friday," he repeated dumbly, still entranced by the thought of all she held in reserve that he was allowed to wander through at will. "What about Friday?"

"The Met. Alexis. Family day."

He felt his breath escape and none would come after; he regarded her mutely, everything blank but the word - _family._

She only laughed at him, a soft thing, a vulnerable thing, and nudged him with her knee, her thumb soothing the inside of his arm as she did. "Castle."

Family.

"Castle, family day at the Dunes. Remember?"

Oh. He sucked in a gulp of air, felt his brain starting clicking over again.

She was gentle as she looked at him, her coffee cup cradled against her chest, her eyes so brilliantly brown in this light as she waited for him to catch up.

"Of course. At the Dunes," he nodded. "Your father."

"I need to see him. Even though he hasn't called. Or written. I need him to know that I'm here."

He nodded again, felt his head like a pogo stick, unable to stop bouncing, jittery with the rush of whatever that was. Not disappointment; he wasn't at all disappointed with her. She was being so careful of him right now, like he might be fragile, like she wanted to make him sure of her.

"But," she said carefully.

He was still nodding like a fool, trying to find words to reassure her too, that he was okay, that it was fine, he hadn't meant to think-

"But this weekend."

Right. This weekend. Back on track, Rick. "Yeah. Friday. We'll stop by here and meet you-"

"Yes. Right here. But what I meant was. . ." She watched him for a moment, then seemed to gather resolution from the steadiness he'd somehow reclaimed. "Do I pack for the weekend, Castle? Or just Saturday."

Oh. Oh, at his place in the Hamptons. She was offering-

"The weekend," he said, growing ever more confident.

"The weekend then." She leaned in again, coming up on her toes and using her grip on his arm to steady herself as she kissed him. Her lips were soft, they lingered a little longer this time; she tasted of coffee. "Now let me go clear my workload."

He watched her walk away from him, coffee in hand, her father's black band like a weight around her slender wrist; he watched her long enough to see another guy in uniform nudge her, motion towards Rick with a mocking gesture.

But Beckett pivoted her body towards him with a smile, wriggled her fingers at him as she went, then turned back to the officer and punched him hard in the shoulder.

Castle grinned, noticed the guy rubbing his arm and whining about it, and turned around himself, heading for the exit.


	25. Chapter 25

**Vice**

* * *

"Hey," he said warmly, and she curled her toes into her couch as she pressed the phone tighter to her ear.

"Hey back." She heard him chuckle softly and wondered where he was. "What're you wearing?"

He laughed at that, a little breath of air in it though that told her she got him. "Why, Officer? You-"

"Actually."

"Actually, what? You're seriously wanting phone sex right now?"

She hummed back, a laugh threatening. "Not really. I think it's kinda awkward, but maybe with you - who knows?"

He did gasp at that, full-throated, rich, a low and strangled sound following it that he sometimes made in bed.

So now maybe she got it, why the phone sex thing worked. If she could make him moan-

She shook her head, closed her eyes. "But, no, I meant. Actually, I may not be an officer for much longer."

"Are you serious? That's soon. That's _young. _Beckett-"

"Yeah, it is soon. I haven't been pushing it - that really didn't enter into it for me, but Captain Montgomery let me know that the Chief of D's thinks-"

"Chief of. . .what?"

"Detectives. Chief of Detectives. Darn. I'm falling down on my job, aren't I? This is probably stuff you should know by now."

"Yeah," he said softly, and she heard in it all the condemnation he wouldn't say. She'd promised to be his consultant - to answer all his questions about police procedure and how the precinct worked - but she'd either been steeped in work or deep in. . .him.

"I'm sorry," she said slowly. "I should-"

"I'm good, Kate."

"But you've been writing anyway?"

"Yeah. I've looked stuff up online, gotten more from you than you probably realize. But soon I'll need-"

"Access," she supplied. "And actually - that shouldn't be a problem."

He was so silent on the other end that she had to pull her phone away from her ear to check that she hadn't dropped the call.

"Castle?"

"It won't be a problem?"

"I mean. If they make me a detective soon. . .and it looks like they will. That's what I'm trying to tell you. The Chief of Detectives is looking at this politically - I helped catch a serial killer, they promote me young-"

"Hot new star of the NYPD," he said.

She dug her toes into the couch and pressed her forehead to her propped up knees. "Yes. Something like that." It still made her heart shiver to think about it.

"So when will you know for sure?"

"I think they're trying not to say anything - not step on toes. There's a woman in Vice - a detective - who wants it too. I don't know. But she's good at Vice - the Captain wants to keep her there. Plus the 54th is undergoing some reorganization. . ."

"I heard about that," he said suddenly. "Corrupt cop stuff."

She chewed on her bottom lip, hesitant. "Is that common knowledge? Because the idea was to keep it in-house."

"It's. . .common enough. Not being dragged through the papers, but you know there are always other sources."

"Shit," she muttered. "Well. Yeah, you're right. A guy at the 54th was on the take - wrapped up in some mob stuff they said. I don't know. I haven't heard the details and I'm not supposed to. So don't - I don't want to know, Castle."

"Okay. I can keep a secret."

She did smile at that, realized suddenly how _much_ he made her smile. "Anyway, the restructuring they're doing at the 54th means a lot of their guys are getting shuttled around. For their own sakes, really. So we're looking at getting two or three new detectives."

"Which means it might make it harder for you. I get it."

"Not harder, just that it might delay-"

"-the inevitable," he inserted quickly.

She laughed at that too, glad she'd called him. When they got the news today about the 54th, she'd been certain it meant her promotion would be put on hold. But the way Castle talked - her confident certainty came rushing back.

"Hey, are you at home?" he said suddenly.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"It's late. Just get home?"

She sighed. "Yes." He knew her too well.

"Don't work too hard. I don't want you spending all weekend _sleeping_ in my bed. I got plans for you."

She huffed at that, but couldn't help picturing how damn nice that sounded. Stretched out in his bed. The beach somewhere beyond the window. The way he liked to stroke his fingers over her skin as they dozed on the edge of sleep-

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" he murmured.

She hummed in agreement and closed her eyes, let her body slide down the couch. It was late; she wasn't about to go over to his place just because his voice sounded so warm and welcoming.

Didn't stop her from wishing he could come over here. Come to her for once.

She bit her lip. She shouldn't. She wanted to, but she really should be more considerate-

Hell with it. "Alexis is asleep," she said softly.

"Hm? Yeah. Better be," he laughed. "It's late."

"Call your mother."

"What?"

"To stay there while you - Do you think she'd - I want you. I just. . .want you." She swallowed hard in the silence. "Here. At my place."

She waited, eyes closed as her heart pounded in her chest, shaking her body on the couch. She wanted to say _please_ but she wouldn't. She wouldn't. It wasn't fair to ask in the first place. And she wasn't that person, begging-

"Okay. Okay. Let me - I'll call. I don't know if I can convince her, but I'll call."

And then he hung up on her.

* * *

She paced.

Hands pressed to her eye sockets, quick strides along the floor at the back of her couch.

He called and she snatched up the phone, words spilling out. "You don't have to-"

"I'm at your building. Let me in?"

Oh yes.

Beckett only barely kept herself from racing for the door. She took the stairs efficiently, realized halfway down that she was barefoot and in black leggings, oversized shirt, no bra, no underwear, her hair in a mess around her face, make-up scrubbed off-

He was leaning against the outside of her building, his head turned towards the street, his plaid pajama pants sticking out from under his coat.

She pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing, opened the inside door first, leaned forward to unlock the security door. She shoved on it, foot propped in the door behind her to keep it from closing, and Castle caught the security door and pulled it wide.

He came in, his eyes hot, and his hand immediately curled at the back of her neck as his mouth pushed down over hers.

She stumbled, felt her foot lose its place and had to jerk back, catch the inside door before it closed on them.

"I didn't bring my keys down," she explained, her back against the wood as he stared after her, molten.

He nodded and pushed past her inside the lobby of her building, their bodies brushing purposefully, insistently. She felt his coat catch on her shirt and let herself follow after him.

She took his hand and led him back up the stairs, her fingers playing at his palm, slipping along the smooth, cool skin. He let their touch stay loose, even dropped back a few steps so their hands were lighter, easier to swing, and then she felt the back of his fingers against her hip, her thigh as she moved, her ass.

She tossed him a look over her shoulder and he just grinned, that slow, pleased with himself smile that made her stomach jump in anticipation.

"What'd your mother say?" she murmured, trying to dissipate some of the unbearable tension as they mounted the steps.

"She said it was only fair that - for once - I do the walk of shame."

Kate grinned and turned her face back to the hall, pulled him after her towards her door. She let go of his hand to twist the knob and felt him at her back, his palms already moving across her abs and under her shirt.

"I think she's right," Kate murmured, pushing open her front door and easing forward, trying not to break the connection of his hands on her. "Only fair."

* * *

He dropped Alexis at school, confiscating her book as she left him; she fumed, but her teacher had called and confessed that Alexis was reading during class.

So no books in her possession at school until she could get herself under control. He'd never seen Alexis do something quite so flagrant, and while a part of him was relieved to find out she was a normal kid, he was also concerned.

He didn't want it to be about Kate, but he couldn't help thinking it might be.

With Mixed-Up Files in hand, he headed back down the sidewalk and rolled his shoulders, tilted his neck. He'd fallen asleep in Kate's bed, which was too small for him - it was almost too small for _her_ - and he had a twinge in his back that wouldn't go away.

She'd confessed this morning that she liked his bed better when there was two of them. He'd grinned and tried to make her bed a little more. . .fun.

He thought he'd succeeded.

His mother had slept in the guest bedroom, and when she'd come downstairs for breakfast with him and Alexis, his daughter had been thrilled to see her. And surprised. His mother had taken one for the team, claimed she'd not been able to make it all the way home last night and so had stopped over at the loft.

His mother was melodramatic, but she came through.

_You owe me_, she'd mouthed, heading out the door.

He did. Definitely. And he knew he'd be paying her back soon enough.

Castle stopped in at the corner deli, squeezing into line behind a sharply dressed, newspaper-reading businessman. Rick tucked the book up under his arm even as a young woman followed him inside and took a place in line right at his back. She crowded close, which was strange, but she was talking on her cell phone and didn't seem to notice their proximity.

And then-

A sighting. He felt the difference just by the change in the air - tension or extra awareness, he wasn't sure what. Just the sense of eyes which thought they were familiar with him. He casually cast his gaze around the crowded deli, scanning people at the cafe tables, checking them out to see if they were trying to check _him_ out.

A woman in running clothes, sipping a cup of black, a jogging stroller parked next to her and the kid inside tearing apart a bagel. A man on his phone, saying absolutely nothing, staring into the middle distance. A guy with a laptop parked at the counter against the window, a man next to him with earbuds in, probably with an ipod - the telltale white cord gave it away.

A woman in a skirt and sneakers, fussing over her suit jacket while a friend complained across from her. A man in tweed sipping tea slowly, his eyes closed, a dog at his feet, his egg sandwich uneaten on a plate.

Castle kept going, cataloging each and every character, filing away details for later scenes, other stories. He wondered what had set him off, made his eyes start wandering in the first place, and maybe his ego really had gotten out of hand.

A shift of bodies as the line pressed forward and Castle crossed the slight gap between himself and the serious man with the newspaper. And then he saw her - a woman at the tiny table tucked right inside the door, squeezed into an impossible corner.

"I'm sorry," she blushed, blonde hair brushing her shoulders. "I just - I saw your book."

He gave a polite, friendly smile. Of course she had. "Have you read it?" he asked, not sure which book she meant, but willing to go with it.

"Oh yeah. But it was ages ago."

Ages? Was he really that old?

"I loved it when I was a kid."

A kid? He really _was_ that-

Oh. Alexis's book, under his arm.

Castle hid his amusement by tugging the book out, then glanced back down to the woman at the cafe table. She'd been reading, her fingers pressed into the page to keep her place.

It looked like Pride and Prejudice and he couldn't help but be disappointed. Of course a pretty blonde in a New York deli was reading a Jane Austen novel. He wanted to tell the universe, _Try harder_.

If it were Kate reading in a cafe, it would be Philip K. Dick or Peter Høeg - something gritty and mysterious and literate. Something that would make him want to forget his coffee and sit down with her, talk about books.

He suddenly wanted to call her and talk about books. Probably not a good idea at nine in the morning.

Pride and Prejudice was smiling up at him. "So. If you don't mind my asking, are you liking it?"

Castle did grin back at that, shook his head. "It's my daughter's. I've had to confiscate it."

The woman laughed, glanced down at her own book. "Well. That's something I can certainly relate to. And I bet your daughter is begging to go to the Met now, isn't she?"

Castle stilled, studied the woman's face a little more intently. Nothing dangerous in it, no guile, no crazy eyes either. He relaxed imperceptibly, and slid up a bit farther in line.

"She is. Yes. Dying to go, actually. I think she was too little to remember the last time we were there." He wasn't comfortable adding anything more specific, but the woman was already continuing on.

"I have to admit, I was so disappointed when my mom took me. I'd just read that book, and it seemed so magical, so mysterious, and then to go. . .I guess I was too young to really appreciate the beautiful art. And even though I suppose I'm old enough now, I've never really been able to get over that first impression."

He glanced back down to the book with surprise, flipped through a few pages, tried to see the magic in it that had captured this woman, and Kate, and now his daughter as well. So much so that she was sneak-reading it in class.

"I guess I'll have to read it," he said finally.

And then it was his turn to order.

* * *

He had to say, he was pretty disappointed. There wasn't a lot of magic in the first fifty pages.

However, he totally got why it appealed to Kate and Alexis; the main character, Claudia, was so detail-oriented, so strict with the rules and having order and doing things right. Even though Claudia and her brother were running away to the Met, the sister was intent on them learning every day from a new room in the museum.

Seemed a lot like Alexis, and probably Kate too.

Bored with it, he started skimming.

If there was magic - and mystery - he didn't want his daughter to lose it when she was faced with the reality of the Met.

Not like the woman in the deli. And well, not like Kate either.

When had Kate lost that sense of magic? Maybe when the mystery had become all there was to her life - more than she could want, or have to bear. Maybe that had been the moment, coming home to find her mother murdered.

Castle shivered and settled deeper into his chair, determined to find the magic for them both.


	26. Chapter 26

**Vice**

* * *

When Beckett got home, she carefully placed her father's watch in the wooden keepsake box that held her mother's ring. She fingered the chain, rolling it on the soft velvet lining, and then shut the lid.

She hadn't worn her mother's chain in a while; it was good to take a break from the weight of it around her neck, good to remind herself that this - the outside world - was life, not the chain.

Wearing the ring had been the suggestion of the grief counselor her father had sent her to after the case went cold. She'd dropped out of Stanford to attend NYU, get an accelerated degree in Criminal Justice so she could head straight for the Police Academy, and her father had been worried about her, but unable to help, drowning in his own obsession.

The grief counselor had thought it would be a convenient memorial and a way to focus her energy into a positive channel - her parents' love, their commitment, the bright hope of Kate's family. But that wasn't how Beckett viewed it. She kept the ring tucked under her shirt during training at the Academy and sometimes that was the only thing that kept her on her feet - the way she was working towards knowing, once and for all, why.

Why.

Her father had been right, hadn't he? He drowned in drink and she drowned in the work, obsessions both.

So this was hers, and alcohol was his.

Still she hadn't worn the ring in nearly two weeks.

And Castle hadn't called her all day.

* * *

When he finally picked up on the other end, he sounded rushed.

"Hey," she started, but he interrupted.

"Sorry, I'm right in the middle of a thing. Can I call you back in just a second?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure-"

But he'd already hung up.

Beckett tossed her cell phone onto the couch and put her hands on her hips, surveyed her living room.

Okay, so her full-sized bed was narrow and cramped and not nearly long enough for either of them, but she'd enjoyed it still.

She knew he had too.

But two nights in a row _was_ asking too much.

Even though she wanted to ask.

* * *

"You coming over for dinner?"

She sucked in a breath and glanced to the clock, then carefully put the photographs back into their sleeve, folded down the flap. Christmas, 1998 and January, 1999. She sighed and tossed the photos into the box with all the rest of her mother's home office stuff, rubbed her forehead. Her phone was pressed tightly to her ear.

"Kate?"

"What was the question?"

"Are you eating with us tonight?"

She glanced to the oven clock once more and winced. "It's late. I'm actually - I've brought work home with me." Because he hadn't called her back, or because she'd just finally had the time?

"Oh. Darn. Well, tomorrow is Friday and there's the Met if you're-"

"Of course. I'm packing my bag and bringing it with me, stowing it in my locker until I get off duty. You guys are walking over to pick me up, right?"

"I thought I'd drive the car so that we can leave our bags in the trunk and go straight from the Met to the Hamptons."

She fingered the edge of the pink notecard she'd made. It was labeled _Why?_, and it was the damn question of her life.

For five years, she'd had no answers, not even any guesses, to write in on the blank lines of the card. There was the detective's official report (which she still hadn't gotten her hands on a copy of, even though Captain Montgomery had promised) that said it was gang violence. But she just didn't buy it.

"Beckett?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Just distracted. But yes - straight to the Hamptons after the Met. Sounds great."

"You okay?"

She sighed. "I'm just - going over this case."

"A hard one?"

She bit her lip and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "Impossible." Still, her voice wavered and she had to blow out her breath.

He sighed back. "Hey. You know why I picked you to be the inspiration for my new character?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to be lighter. "I don't know. Because my arresting you was a wet dream come true?"

"Okay, want to know the _other _reason?"

She felt her mouth twisting crookedly, almost a smile. "What's the other reason?"

"Because with you, nothing's impossible. You'll figure out this case, whatever it is. I know you will."

And just like that - she believed him.

* * *

Alexis kept close at Kate's side, which was disconcerting enough, but Castle seemed to be doing the same. She nudged him with her hip and he did bounce away for a few blocks, but then he was back at her, fingers brushing her back, shoulder to shoulder.

After a while, she gave up trying to get her own space and eased into the role of bumper pad for the both of them; the Castles seemed all about puppy eagerness today, tripping over each other in their joyful adventure.

She'd convinced him to leave the car at the precinct, parked down the block with a bunch of the squad cars. They could get back to it easily enough when they were done at the museum, go to the Hamptons from there. But the walk through the park was cold; the branches were crooked fingers in the grey sky.

"What if it snows?" Alexis asked.

"It's not supposed to," Kate replied. "I checked the weather to see what I needed to pack."

"It might snow," Castle overrode. "We've always wanted to see snow on the beach. We miss it every time."

"It's not going to snow," she sighed, rolling her eyes at him. No point in getting up Alexis's hopes. "There's not a stormfront in sight all weekend."

"But if it did, Dad, we could build snow castles on top of our sand castles."

The two shared a thrilled look, but Kate let them have it, resigned to their holiday mood. Their talk consisted of snow on the waves and crystals of icicles in every tide pool, but after a few minutes, it didn't sound so fanciful and ridiculous - it just sounded nice.

Maybe it _would_ snow.

* * *

Alexis counted the steps of the Grand Stairway as they mounted them; Kate could hear her under her breath and had to actively avoid doing the same.

She'd done it as a kid as well, as if needing a sense of order to impose upon the nearly overwhelming excitement of entering the museum. When they reached the main doors and came into the hall, the vaulted ceiling stretched so far above them that Alexis stumbled to a stop, Kate right behind her.

Castle stood at their backs as a crowd-break, forcing people to go on either side of them as he gave his daughter this moment to gawk. To wonder.

Kate turned her eyes to him, surprised at it, or maybe more surprised with her own reaction to it - his fatherhood, and how it melted the hard places inside her.

He took her hand in response and they waited side by side until Alexis's eyes finally reached the end of their vast journey and came down to meet their gazes.

"Wow," she said.

Castle smiled at her, reached out to tug on her nose. "Let's go pay for admission."

"It's free," Alexis said suddenly and Kate winced, remembering that from the book.

"Actually, it's not anymore," she said quietly. "But kids under twelve are still free."

"Oh." Alexis slumped a little and Kate realized she'd be doing this all day - assessing the museum based on the wonderfully fun and magic book she'd read. "But maybe that's what she meant in the book? That it's free to Claudia and her brother because they're under 12 anyway?"

"Sure," Castle said easily, sliding up next to his daughter and taking her by the shoulder. "That's it exactly."

Kate nodded as well, and Alexis seemed mollified somewhat, because she then moved for the growing line at the ticket stations - which looked like tellers in a private, exclusive bank. She stood at Castle's back and people-watched while they waited - the group tours, the children's field trips, the art students, the knot of friends exploring together, the loners.

She was a loner in museums as well; she wanted the space and the silence to appreciate it, the time to stand struck in front of one piece for as long as she needed. But she wouldn't today, not with Alexis, and she planned on feeling chafed, trapped by their tethers, by the hand that was curled in her father's jacket even as she bumped into Kate again and again.

That was okay; she could do that too. She'd already had her times to explore the Met solitary and in freedom. It might go against her instincts, but she'd survive one trip. Plus it might be interesting to see it through Alexis's eyes.

Kate smiled to herself as she watched his daughter peer around the magnificent entry hall. People were thick and the place was loud, quite different than Kate had expected as a kid - silence and hushed tones and not quite so much laughter. Alexis had probably had that misconception as well.

"It's still pretty amazing," she said, nudging Alexis a little to get her attention. "And we can't possibly do it all today, so don't get your hopes up. But a few things - we can explore to our hearts' content."

Alexis flashed her a grin back, her body lengthening suddenly, drawing up to her full height as she looked at Kate. She dropped her hand from her father's coat and seemed to grow taller right before Kate's eyes.

"That's a smart idea. We'll just pick a few exhibits for today. But we can all come back for the rest, right?"

"Of course."

Kate felt Castle's hand at her back, the pressure of just his fingertips, but it was enough.

* * *

After they'd paid for admission and received the little buttons, Castle led them to off to one side to regroup, study the map, plan their attack.

"Egyptian room is just right through there," Kate suggested.

"Pumpkin, what do you want to do first?"

Alexis cast a long look at the map, and then she furrowed her brow. After a moment's intense studying, she smiled and tapped her finger on the page. "There. Lost and Found. I want to go there first."

Kate's heart sank.

The book.

Oh damn. It was going to be like this all day, wasn't it? And Castle was just leading them merrily off towards Lost and Found, not even _asking_ Alexis why she was ignoring all the wonderful collections just to go look at a glorified coat room.

She followed, tried to signal his attention, but it looked like he was avoiding her. Actively. She hurried towards them just as Castle stopped at the desk positioned in front of Lost and Found. Kate was too far away to hear what he said, but the man's eyes lit up and his head bobbed, like he'd been expecting them.

And then Kate knew.

Her body flooded with it, but she could barely grasp the words to confirm what was going on; she followed Alexis into Lost and Found, staring at Castle's back as he led the way, the employee just ahead of him.

He'd done this. Castle. Castle had done this. Something. He'd done something and now-

"Look all you like," the man said to them, gesturing towards the wooden shelves overflowing with items - umbrellas, coats, a pair of shoes, books, sketch pads, a collection of art supplies, cell phones, a graphic calculator, a few ipods, headphones, a water bottle apparently sneaked in, school bags, the edge of a case-

"Oh," Alexis breathed.

They hadn't made it too obvious; just poking a corner out, the shape of a case. An instrument case. Behind it, two backpacks - old looking, older than Kate thought could be found so quickly. Even by Castle.

But he'd done it.

An instrument case and two backpacks. Alexis made straight for the items, her hands seemed to hardly dare to touch them.

"Can I - I can look inside?" she asked, dropping to her knees in front of that bottom shelf.

"Of course. You probably suspect your lost item might be inside, so go right ahead," the man offered, standing off to one side.

Kate slid her eyes to Castle, the deep satisfaction in them, the tender and heart-clenching love. She couldn't look, had to cast her gaze back to Alexis as the girl pulled the backpack out, careful with it, so careful.

She opened the zippered pocket and laughed, pulled out some greyed underwear - plain and skinny, kids' underwear like the brother and sister had worn in the book, washed inexpertly. And then Alexis's breath caught and she pushed her hands deeper into the backpack, pulled out an old, clunky transistor radio.

It was the children's bags that they'd hidden in the museum. The brother and sister's things had been rounded up by the guards and put in Lost and Found, and the end of the book had said they'd never been claimed.

And here they were for Alexis to find. Like magic.

Kate turned her head to Castle, her heart in her throat, watched him grinning down at his daughter.

And even though they were in the musty room of the Met's Lost and Found, even though the employee was standing right there smiling a grandfatherly smile, Kate reached for Castle and wrapped her hand around his, pressed her mouth to his knuckles because she couldn't not.

Tightly.

She was choking on it; it wanted out now that she'd found it. It wanted him and she didn't know what else to do but tell him, share the magic.

"Castle."

His hand tightened around hers, but he was still looking at his daughter.

So she swallowed hard, swallowed it down, and just suffered through the wild and frenetic beat of her heart, watching him as he took joy in his daughter.

Magic.

* * *

She kept the thing she'd found close to her, held trapped in her chest, but it began to flood her whole body, liquid and warm.

It felt like magic. It felt impossible, but here it was anyway.

She knew it would have to be said out loud, and inspected thoroughly, and put to the test. She knew, but first she was letting it color everything today, this one day with him in the Metropolitan Museum of Art; she wanted to see what happened, if it was any different.

They left the items in Lost and Found, _for the next kids_, Alexis said, and then went straight back across the hall to the Egyptian room.

Kate let his hand go when he moved to take it back, show something to Alexis, but she watched him in silence, the light on his face, the light in the museum, the light when he was with his daughter.

The light when he turned to look at her, check to see she'd followed them.

They roamed through mummies and sarcophagi, around the still pool, back towards another room. They saw French paintings and British furniture, Goya and Picasso, a da Vinci on loan that engendered a huge crowd but was completely worth it - breath-taking and rich and stunning. And then they looped back around to the Greek statues.

It was here that Alexis stayed the longest, standing stock still before the grimace of a man and his torso, or the frieze of a Bacchanalia.

Since the girl was still in sight in the long, open room of sculpture, Kate wandered, stopped in front of a form of a woman sitting with her arms clasped around her drawn up legs, forehead pressed to her knees.

She looked so weary; she looked like Beckett so often felt.

Castle seemed to think so too, because he came up at her side, took her hand, and seemed to want to do more, say more, but nothing came from him. She held his hand and wondered what he might say if he knew. How one moment in Lost and Found had been the watershed for all the rest of this, for making her no longer feel like that woman in the statue, broken down and weary with it.

"Castle," she murmured, turned her face to his. He was watching over Alexis, but he drew his gaze back to her; it seemed to take him a moment to focus, and when he did, he smiled.

"This is nice," he said softly back, then laced their fingers together in one clean move, her hand spread wide and thick with the feel of him. It made her heart pound.

She stepped in closer so their hips brushed, thought of telling him right then, letting it out, but at that moment his daughter wandered over. Alexis trailed her fingers over the base of a statue and then seemed to come back to herself, snatched her hand back.

Kate reached out and wrapped her fingers around Alexis's braid, gave it a quick tug. Alexis turned and grinned at her, and then wandered away again, heading for a headless man with upraised arm.

She felt the glance of Castle's kiss at the corner of her lips and turned into it, caught.

When he pulled back with that soft grin on his face, her mouth opened and it all came out.

"Castle. I'm in love with you."


	27. Chapter 27

**Vice**

* * *

_I'm in love with you._

Castle stared at her.

In the brilliant light of the vast room, European sculpture surrounding her like frozen sentinels, Kate Beckett stood her ground.

Her face was just as carefully composed as the statues', her mouth a firm line, her eyes perfectly framed and intent. She squeezed his hand and he breathed, felt it inflate his lungs and fill his chest.

"You are?"

He jerked at his own stupid words, shook his head, closed his eyes, tried again.

When he opened them to speak, she was still watching him. Not waiting - she didn't expect or want him to say anything back, apparently. But she was studying him, as if to determine the effects of some experiment.

Words wouldn't be enough.

He slid his hand to her jaw and touched his mouth to hers, sipping slowly, reverently, before opening his lips to her and drinking deep.

She came alive, warm skin and thrumming pulse, her fingers splayed at his neck, thumb behind his ear even while the hand he held squeezed and let go, came to his back and held him there.

When he broke from the kiss, his breath shared, he opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head. Still-

"Kate, I-"

"Don't. I wanted you to know."

He tried again, but she was biting her bottom lip and squeezing the back of his neck, tighter, and he stopped trying to talk, stared at her.

He'd never had anyone give it to him like this before - a gift - no strings attached, no need for reciprocation, no emotional blackmail. Just a statement of fact. Like she was keeping him apprised of the situation.

"Good to know," he said finally, heard the gruffness in his own voice.

She gave him a smile then, lips pressed together as it stretched across her face but everything else in her eyes.

* * *

It wasn't that much different.

She drove because he handed her the keys, and maybe that had been a good idea, looking at him now. He seemed shell-shocked, and his answers to his daughter's questions were lacking that firm attention he usually brought to bear on her, but it didn't seem awkward, or wrong.

It seemed right.

From time to time, he caught her hand and held it for as long as she could manage to drive like that, until she needed it back for a turn or a particularly steep curve, a lane change one time that required a quick motion and she had to quickly untangle from his grasp.

He had no trouble letting her go, and there were whole hours that stretched without that touch, but it was thrilling when it came back, palm to palm, the kiss of skin, the width of his fingers spreading hers.

When Alexis asked to go to the bathroom, she started looking for exits, saw the off-ramp for the convenience store, felt Castle's attention fix on it.

"No," she said. "It's disgusting."

"You said-"

"I know, but that was an emergency. This is nostalgia."

He grinned at that, glanced over his shoulder at Alexis. She found a fast food restaurant farther down and exited there.

"Can I have some french fries?" Alexis piped up, scrambling out of the back seat.

Kate followed her inside, glanced back to see Castle heading for the register. She turned with a laugh to Alexis. "I guess that's a yes."

"Sweet," she said, giving a fist pump that looked entirely ridiculous on a ten year old girl.

Castle grinned. "Want anything?"

Kate shook her head and nudged his daughter towards the bathroom.

When she came back out, he'd bought her fries as well, and a water, and even though she didn't need them, wasn't hungry, she ate them anyway, the box propped between her legs and the salt coating her jeans.

The french fries tasted good.

* * *

"This isn't a house," she gaped. "This is an estate."

"Maybe a castle?" he grinned, lifting both eyebrows at her.

It was an estate. A castle, sure, if that's what you called a massive, sprawling three story home with its own private beach and lush grass and - oh no - stables?

"You have horses?"

"Some."

She felt the engine of the car still running and hastily turned it off; Alexis unclicked her seat belt and slithered out, pushed open her door to go running for the house.

Double doors, like something out of a British manor house, and yes, an older gentleman was coming out as if to greet them.

"You have servants?"

"No!" He laughed and took the keys from her numb fingers; he seemed to be amused by her. "No servants. That's Mike. He's like a maintenance guy, stable master? He takes care of the horses and airing out the house. I have a cleaning service come through once a month and keep it liveable."

She stared past him at the place, suddenly pretty damn grateful she'd managed to find the words in the Met, because now?

Now. . .

"Hey," he said quietly.

She drew her eyes back to his, saw the apprehension. "I guess most women are impressed."

"You're not most. And you're the only one."

She startled at that, saw his half-shouldered shrug, weak as it was.

"Castle."

"I bought it after Meredith and I divorced. No one has ever come."

Well, great. That was even more daunting than the actual house itself, and what the hell was she doing with him-

"You still in love with me, or-"

She choked through a laugh at the look on his face, the dancing eyebrows and wide smile that covered a poorly-cloaked anxiety over her reaction.

"Yeah," she gave him, shrugging back. She reached out and squeezed his forearm, let her thumb stroke over his wrist bones. "Yeah, can't really help that."

"What? The money, or the emotion?"

She pressed her lips together. "Mm. Both, I suppose." But it - love - felt broader than mere emotion, seemed too firm, too solid for a capricious feeling.

He leaned in and kissed her, warm, soft, almost a caress. His fingers came up to stroke the side of her jaw and she opened her eyes.

He wasn't saying it, but it was clear.

"Come see the house, Kate."

* * *

Beckett twisted the back of her calf to the shower spray, trying to wash off the persistent grains of sand from her skin. They'd traveled up and down the dark, cold beach, Alexis running ahead or dropping to her knees in adoration at a new discovery. They'd picked their way through crabs and mollusks skittering over the shoreline, Kate holding the flashlight, and then they'd come back up the long wooden boardwalk to the house.

She gave up trying to get the last of the sand and shut off the water, rolled her head on her shoulders to dispel the ache. She pushed open the door and grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her steaming skin as she shivered in the cooler air of the bathroom.

When they'd gotten here, he'd led her on a tour of the main wing, shown her to her room with a flushed apology, his eyes darting towards Alexis. But she'd understood, and then when she left him in the hall just now to get a shower, he'd pushed a kiss to her temple and told her to come find him.

Uh-huh.

She'd find him all right.

* * *

Castle jostled his daughter in her bed, gave her a grin. "You need to sleep. No reading."

"Can't I just a little?"

"You read the whole way up. That's enough, pumpkin."

She sighed and flopped back down to the bed, but then she curled on her side and faced him. She evidently had more to say, because she reached out a hand and tapped the fist he'd made in the mattress.

Instead of leaving, Castle sank down on his knees by her bedside, waited on her. Kate was in her room, taking a shower, and he'd really like to get back to that conversation, or declaration, or whatever-

"Is Kate staying all weekend?"

"Yeah."

"Are you having sex with her?"

"That's not - uh. . ." He squinted down at his daughter, tried to figure out what answer was truthful but not too - gross. "I should ask Kate what she's comfortable-"

"That's a yes, Dad."

Darn.

"Yes," he sighed.

"You _like_-like her?"

"Alexis." He nudged her hand with his, tugged on her hair. "I think I need to talk to Kate about this first."

"About me?"

"No," he said quickly. "You're not up for discussion."

She gave him a wide smile, pushed a finger into his skin, playing with it. "I like Kate. I love Kate."

"Yeah."

"If you _like-_like her, then you might love her too."

"That's something I should talk to Kate first-"

"That's a yes too, Dad."

He huffed at her, but she was grinning, that cheeky smile, thinking she was so clever, like she had to _help_ him figure it out.

"You think I don't already know that?" he said, leaning over to noisily kiss her cheek. "Of course I do. Who wouldn't love Kate?"

"Yeah," Alexis said with a little dreamy sigh. "She's awesome. I'm glad you have someone good to love."

He sighed at her, but her eyes were already closed. At least she hadn't asked him if he wanted to make a baby with Kate. Jeez.

"Night, pumpkin." He leaned in and kissed her cheek, tugged the braid she still had in her hair.

After he stood up and turned off her lamp, he only had to take a few steps back before he was closing her door softly and stepping into the hall. He lifted his eyes and moved to find Kate, but-

she'd found him.

She was in the hall biting her lower lip; her face was carefully guarded, but a smile was spilling out in her eyes.

"She thinks I'm awesome?"

He waited there, regarded her a second. "You heard all that."

"Uh-huh."

"So. Uh-"

"You already know what I think," she said, giving a little shrug.

"I do?" And then his brain cleared and he grinned. "Oh. I do. Well. That's different."

She laughed and tilted her head at him; she was wearing one of his shirts - one he hadn't been able to find in a few weeks - and maybe nothing underneath. Or short shorts. Hard to tell.

"How's it different?" she said, stepping closer as if to nudge his attention.

"I'm usually the one jumping off the cliff. This time. . .no moment of panic, no awkwardness, no worries about whether or not you like my kid-"

"I love your kid."

"I know."

She was back to biting her bottom lip again. "Why does that feel more like forev- ah, a commitment than what I said in the Met?"

"I don't know - what did you say in the Met?" he teased, lifting an eyebrow and feigning ignorance. Even as he did, he reached out and made a fist in her shirt - his shirt - and brought her closer.

She came with a little flare of indignation, her bare feet stumbling into his before shifting between his legs. She suddenly straddled his thigh and he clutched her tightly to feel the heat of her, the bare press of her legs.

Nothing on under that shirt. Damn.

"I said," she began slowly, lifting her mouth to his jaw. "That I'm in love with you."

"Oh, that's good."

She growled and nipped at his earlobe, tugged until he leaned into her, letting her feel the full press of his chest against hers. She arched into him sharply and he grinned, wrapped his fingers at her hips to keep her against his thigh.

"Kate."

She hummed and kissed him, an arm sliding around his neck and holding him to her; he felt the play of her fingers as she slid her palm down his chest, heading for his jeans.

"Kate," he said again, more insistent. He wanted her to hear it when it was meant for her, hear it when he was looking at her, and not just when she had her hand down his pants.

She stroked her tongue into his mouth and he gave up, went for it, driving her backwards toward his room, his arms holding her up as she wrapped her legs around him.

"At least," she panted. "Least it's a short walk of shame in the morning."

"Never mind. I don't want you going even that far."

* * *

Saying it first to his daughter in that golden lamp-light, so easy, so true - it somehow meant more to her, sounded more real, than if he'd said it at any other time.

He'd never say anything untrue to his daughter; he'd never deceive her about it. If anything, Castle would be all the more cautious with his daughter's heart. If anything, he'd shade his answer towards prudent wariness.

The clear and honest truth of it had rung in her rib cage like her heart was the bell, the sound echoing all through her body.

Of course he loved her.

Of course. How simple it was.

She made love to him in the wide bed in the master suite, watched the adoration that was in his eyes seep out into his face, through his skin, soften his hands against her. Afterwards, when he pulled her against him, she thought he meant to have her curl up at his chest, fall asleep, but instead he sank her back into the sheets, moved inexorably down.

Only when she came back to herself, when the slip of his fingers was cooling and gentling rather than inflaming did she find his eyes on her again, her body a liquid unable to firm.

He scraped his fingers at her temple, tugged fine strands of her hair back from her face. She blinked and lifted her hand to his chest, stroked the smooth line of his collarbone.

"Kate."

She wanted to smile at him but she didn't think she could make anything work.

He leaned in and brushed a feathering kiss to her eye, making her lid slide shut to receive it. His breath was slow, a warmth at her skin, and then he was moving to kiss the other eyelid. She could feel the trail of his fingers down the center of her torso.

"Kate, I love you."

She shivered and let his kiss pry open her mouth, taking it all from her, even the words she'd already said.

* * *

Kate opened her eyes at the click of a door, instantly awake.

She moved to sit up, defensive and battle-ready, but stayed down when she realized she was naked under the sheet and comforter.

And alone, apparently.

She shifted into the warm spot he'd left and closed her eyes again, tried to sink back into the darkness she'd left when consciousness came, but it was impossible to grasp.

She floated there until her dreams came back to her, pieces of disjointed freak show - baby dolls with mechanical crab legs, the barker at a carnival standing at the end of the boardwalk and holding a gun on her, Alexis with hair that refused to be braided and kinked up - running to meet the barker, the waves growing vicious fingers that dragged her out, the blonde from the photo standing over a dead body. . .

Castle had been in her dream, something about throwing himself in front of her, the bullet, but she hadn't been afraid; it hadn't touched him. They weren't nightmares. They were just crazy hallucinations or a fragmented kaleidoscope of alternate reality; they didn't touch her, not at her heart - she wasn't afraid. It was like reading a book.

Weird. Weird and intense dreams. And somewhere in the back of her mind she was mulling over a conversation she ought to have with one of the Castles about safety, about following orders and staying put - or maybe both of them. Be smarter than her dream.

Just a dream.

"Kate?"

"No," she murmured, heard his chuckle in the doorway.

"Alexis is up. You want breakfast, or want to sleep?"

"I'll do breakfast. What time is it?"

"Eight."

She sighed and rolled onto her back, saw him standing over her, tall and looming, the broad expanse of his shoulders under that shirt, the loose pajama pants slung on his hips. She reached up and crooked her finger under the waistband, made him catch her hand with a strangled sound.

"Kate."

"Sorry. I'll be good. Go. I gotta shower."

Suddenly his hand was crushing hers, tugging her up. She got her legs under her, stumbled into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. "I haven't showered either. We could go together?"

She laughed and pressed a closed-lips kiss to his mouth. "What about Alexis?"

"She's reading."

Her chest tightened at the way he watched her, hooded and wanting, vulnerable to her in a way she hadn't expected. Vulnerable just as she was, soft underbelly exposed to every wound of intimacy. It had a price, it had a terrible price and she'd paid it twice over already - her mom, her father.

Family was serious. This was _serious_.

"Whoa, whoa, stop thinking," he muttered, kissed her roughly, a little sloppy in his haste. "Too early for thinking."

"Alexis-"

"Can't stop us from having sex in the shower. Come on. You know you want to. . ."

But shouldn't she be responsible - an adult? He had a daughter. Shouldn't she make him-

Oh, whoa,_ that_. That was. . .

"Uh-huh, plenty more where that came from," he murmured against her jaw, fingers sliding at the back of her thigh as if to drag her with him.

"Okay," she gasped, closing her eyes to it, to what he did to her, to the soft and vulnerable places he was exposing in her.

But she followed him to his shower.


	28. Chapter 28

**Vice**

* * *

"Can we go with you?" Alexis asked, cramming another bite of omelette into her mouth.

Castle nudged her with his knee and she blushed, dropped her fork. He sighed, knocking his head into hers with a light tap. "That was for the rude question, not the rude eating."

She blushed again, shot him a sideways look as if to say _Stop embarrassing us_. He was amused by how on point his daughter was this morning, over-eager, solicitous. She was trying hard - too hard.

"Kate, Alexis thinks you won't like her if she-"

"Da-ad!" Alexis launched herself out of her chair, clapped her hand over his mouth, moaned as she buried her face in his shoulder. He laughed at her, brought his arm up around her waist.

Kate looked stunned; she'd dropped her fork.

He bent his head and kissed his daughter's cheek. "You are not up for negotiation, remember?"

"But you like her," Alexis whispered fiercely, raising her head to look at him, probably trying to keep her voice down but not succeeding all that much.

"Alexis," Kate said from the other side of the table. "I like you!"

The girl turned towards her, hesitant, hopeful.

"Oh come on. Seriously?" Kate said, huffing at them both. "Castle - it's not funny. And Alexis, jeez. Really? Like I'd spend all this time with you if I didn't like you."

Alexis shot him a nervous look and it hit him then - damn it - _others had_. Other women had catered to his daughter to please him, or get with him, and shit. Who? He was so careful. He didn't bring anyone around, _no one _got close to her, and who had slipped through? Who had _pretended_ to like his daughter?

"Alexis."

He lifted his eyes to Kate, knew Alexis had done the same - twin expressions - because of the way Kate smirked at him.

"Alexis, you just keep being you. You're exactly who you need to be - you don't change for anyone."

Well _that_ had the ring of wisdom to it. Who had told her that? Her mother?

Oh.

Her mother.

* * *

Beckett decided to bring Alexis with her. "You can drop us off," she told him, attempting a smile. "But I need moral support and someone cute to distract my dad."

"Hey now. I'm cute _and_ moral support."

"You're at least one of those," she answered, quirking her lips at him. "Besides, I don't want to get into the heavy stuff with him - I just - not right now. It's all been said; I just want to move on already. And if Alexis is with me, we'll have to be nice to each other."

"If I was with you-"

"He'd somehow convince you to take Alexis off to one side and entertain her so my father could be serious, because he's _good_ at that, Castle. He is - was - a lawyer. Believe me, he knows how to get his way."

He sighed at her, a curl to his lip that was the beginnings of a pout. Interesting how he was showing her all his immaturity again, now that they'd said some pretty serious, grown-up stuff. "But I want to go too."

"Stop whining. It's not attractive."

"Then how in the world did you ever fall in love with me? I mean-"

She stepped into him and squeezed his hip, tightly, until he shut up. And then she grazed her mouth against his jaw, felt his hands clamp at her waist like a steel trap, tugging her close.

"I like you best when you're quiet, Castle." She bit at the hard line of his jaw. "When I shock you silent."

"I like you best when you're loud," he growled back. "Must be fate."

She hummed at that and let her mouth touch his, a little stunned herself at how nothing had changed, how it was still the hottest slide of her lips against his, the fire of nerves awakening to his fingers, the crowding, forceful heat of his body battling hers for space. Neither of them would win; they would simply inhabit the same existence - made one.

Okay, damn, something _had_ changed. She was getting sentimental as hell.

"Let me go," she murmured. "I need to see my father."

"I don't know that I can let you go. You're too tempting. Alluring. You open your mouth and it's a siren's song-"

"Let me go before I do you bodily harm."

"Even bodily harm from you would-"

"Let me go before I call your mother and invite her to stay the weekend with us."

He gasped and dropped his hands, stepping back, eyes flashing - humor and horror both. "You wouldn't!"

"The whole point of a threat, Castle, is being willing to follow through." She smirked at him and patted his chest, a little consoling, a lot condescending. "Think you can keep up with me, Ricky?"

She sauntered out of the bedroom, dressed for the day and ready to find his daughter, and then noticed he wasn't following. She threw a look at him over her shoulder - his stunned and open mouth, his mussed hair, the ineffectual flexing of his fingers.

"You coming, Castle?"

"Apparently, only when you let me."

* * *

"You sure you're not too bored?" Kate asked again, glancing down at Alexis.

"I'm not bored. I didn't know there'd be arts and crafts."

Kate laughed at the overwhelming art show displayed before them. "I didn't either."

The vast interior of the gym had been given over to Family Day. The Dunes had set up booths highlighting just what their patients' money was buying - pottery classes, painting, knitting, glass blowing, tapestry, needlepoint, wood working - artisans and entertainers and services offered to help each person in their recovery.

It was daunting, elaborate, and no doubt expensive.

"Can I do the sand painting?" Alexis asked, wandering away from Kate's side and heading towards a white tent with a long table set out.

"Uh, sure. I - I need to find my dad in all this. . ."

"Oh, he doesn't know we're coming, right?"

"Right," Kate sighed. Stupid, but she liked the _we _that so naturally came out of Alexis's mouth. She had moral support, just like she'd told Castle. She really did need to find her father and get it over with though.

Still, she followed Alexis to the booth where different colored sand sat in clear tubs. A variety of glass bottles were available to select from, with a few finished products on display. It had the look and set-up of a local craft fair.

"Ooh, look how cool this is!"

The guy manning the booth came over to them, eyes flicking back and forth over them as if trying to place them. When Kate offered nothing, he simply leaned over and pulled a selection of empty glass bottles off a tray, holding them out.

"Would you like to make one?"

"Can I?" Alexis turned back to her, hopeful eyes and tentative smile. Kate _had_ dragged her along as a shield, the least she could do was let the kid have some fun first.

"Course you can. You make one and I'll keep an eye out for my dad."

"Who is your father?" the man asked, letting Alexis choose her bottle.

"Ah. . ." And because she realized it was no use keeping her personal life so close to the vest, not _here_, she went ahead and asked the man for help. "Jim Beckett. Do you know him - seen him around?"

"No, sorry. I don't know him. But sand painting might not be his thing."

Kate grimaced, gave the man a nod for that. "You're right. If there's a library, that's more his style."

"We do have a library. Does he know you're coming? Because he might be down here looking for you-"

"No," Kate said quickly. "He doesn't."

"Well, then he probably would be hiding out from the rest of them. There are quite a few who do."

Hiding out. Yeah, that was both their styles, wasn't it? Hiding out until the messy part was over.

"When we're done here, I can give you directions," the man offered.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate it."

Alexis hesitated with her hand around one of the funnels. "Do you want to go now, Kate?"

"No, Alexis. Make your sand painting. I want to see it."

The girl turned back to the glass bottle before her with a determined looking face. "I can give it to Dad. He looked sad when he dropped us off."

"He'll get over it," Kate smiled. "But sure. He'll love it."

Because he really would. He'd love it no matter what.

* * *

Jim Beckett was in the library - a modern space with gleaming chrome shelves, contoured overhead pendant lights, and clusters of comfortable seating. Kate found him at ease in an armchair, a book in hand and held up to the light.

"Hey! That's my Dad's book!" Alexis cried, jerking away from Kate to walk swiftly towards Jim. She was still carrying the sand bottle, and library rules had evidently been drilled into her at a young age, because she didn't run, and she didn't raise her voice past that initial surprise.

Kate sighed as she followed, catching sight of the title. It was an older one, Flowers for Your Grave, and her father seemed engrossed in it. She remembered the main character was a down and out journalist whose wife had left him after he lost his job. Probably her father felt some kinship.

And that sucked.

What happened to her mother just sucked, and it sucked that this was where they were now, what they were left with. But maybe it was starting to get better, changing.

Kate had changed. Her father could too.

Alexis came right up to Jim and put her hand on his propped up knee, leaning in to look at the page. "Oh, this is a good part!"

Jim's shock at his privacy suddenly being invaded would have been comical had Kate not known exactly how he felt. It was much the same for her; she was finding herself surrounded by the Castles at every turn. She and her father had not done family, been a family, in so long that the mere presence of one was startling. And that sucked too.

Jeez, this was a terrible idea.

"Ah. Excuse me, young - oh, Katie." His eyes found hers over Alexis's head and he stiffened, withdrawing the book to his lap and closing it. He made to stand and Alexis backed up, watching him with a beaming, trusting smile, apparently ready to love anyone who loved her father.

Oh, well.

Yeah.

Her throat closed up.

"Kate," her father said gravely, and they stood there awkwardly face to face with the girl at Kate's elbow between them. "What are you-"

"Why didn't you invite me?" she blurted out, then winced and closed her eyes, cursing her leaky heart. This was what family did, made her all cracked so that this needy and desperate stuff came right out.

"I bet he just didn't know you wanted to come," Alexis said hurriedly, and Kate felt the girl's hand at her arm, trying to soothe. "Right, Mr. Beckett? My mom never invited me either, but I think it's cause she never knew I wanted to come and see her."

Kate snapped open her eyes and glanced over at Alexis.

She hadn't thought about that side of things when she'd allowed Alexis to tag along; she only wanted the girl as a human shield, and as a way to make her feel important, but Alexis had her own agenda here.

She wanted to see the place her mother had been and she'd not been allowed to follow.

"Ah, Dad." Kate swallowed and gestured towards the girl. "You remember Alexis? And her - well, her father, I guess you wouldn't forget."

Jim had held the book at his chest but now glanced down at it. "Right." His eyes traveled back up to Alexis, then to Kate. "Guess they're firmly in this, huh?"

The sting inherent in his question barely made a dent; Kate was grateful, at least, for that. She had some armor left after the siege of Rick Castle. "They're in my life, if that's what you're asking."

He grunted, shook his head. "Kate. You shouldn't have come."

"Why not?" she said fiercely.

Alexis was letting go of her arm and shifting away. Kate glanced at her and took a breath, turned her head back to her father, but he beat her to it.

"I thought you were going to give me ninety days, Katie."

"I didn't know that meant I couldn't see you," she said back, biting her bottom lip. "I just wanted to - to know. See for myself you were. . ."

"Keeping my word?" And there was some bitterness in that too, but mostly resignation.

She shook her head, but he was probably right. "Just that you were okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm drowning in a miserable sobriety and near-constant reminders of what we used to have-"

"Dad," she choked. She glanced wildly around for Alexis, either to spare her or use her as a buffer, but the girl had wandered off to look at a row of library books. "Dad, please."

"But I'm - damn it - I'm glad you came," he gruffed, shaking his head at her. "And with the girl - the man. I needed to know you were being taken care of. I might have abandoned you, but-"

"Dad," she growled, shaking her head. "No one's taking care of me. I'm-"

"Fine, fine. Support system. Call it that. Let me finish what I'm trying to say while I'm broken enough to say it."

She closed her mouth, swallowed, but part of her was lifting with hope. He sounded - well, more honest with her than he'd ever been, but she was an adult and surely that's what was supposed to happen. But more than that, he sounded like himself, not taking crap from her, being assertive, stating his case - being her father again.

"Okay, Dad," she said finally. "Say what you need to say."

"Damn it, Katie, I want to be sober when I walk you down the aisle," he hoarsed.

She stared at him.

"Whenever that is," he said, waving a hand over at Alexis as if in dismissal. "But you know what I mean. Life. Your life, my life. This place is hell, but it's making me live life again. Just like you should be too." His eyes cut to the girl again, then back to Kate. "And maybe you are."

Her heart thundered like a beast, her hands trembling at her sides, and no words would come.

She took another swift look at Alexis, the open face, encouraging in its own way, all that naive expectation. If Kate had come here with Castle, he would've let her off the hook, said he understood, don't worry about it, another time. But with Alexis as the guard to her father's heart. . .

"Katie, I'm not in a good place right now and I need - need time away to be a brute. To - to let her go, however painful and damaging that makes me. I've got to let her go and you do too, you do too, and I don't know how to make you see-"

"I fell in love with him," she said quickly, shutting her eyes and then opening them to her father's silence. He was staring at her.

"What?"

"I fell in love with him," she said, softer, reached out to touch his photo on the back cover of the book. "You should know. They're in this, I'm in this - and whatever you need, Dad, whatever-"

"You fell in love with him?" he repeated, his mouth opening and jaw hanging there. "Holy sh-"

She quirked her eyebrow at him and half-stepped to one side, blocking her father's view of Alexis, as if that could stop the girl from hearing - she wasn't that far away. But her father censored himself, rubbed a hand over his jaw, put himself back together. But his eyes were shining.

"Katie," he choked out, then shook his head, breathed past whatever it was that he couldn't seem to get over.

"Dad. I didn't mean to-"

"I'm so glad," he got out suddenly, his voice almost a whisper. His eyes shot open and he reached out to grip her hand, his fingers like talons. "I'm so - he'll be what you - I'm so relieved."

Relieved?

"Dad. I-"

"This is the best I can do for you right now, and it's a miserable attempt at it, I know. But I am so damn grateful he's - that you have him while I. . .get my shit together."

Her chest tightened.

"And that one," her father added, glancing over at Alexis. Then he tracked his eyes back to Kate, sighed at her.

"You're in love with the man, Katie," he continued, as if it had just now gotten through to him. Finally his hands lifted to land heavily at her shoulders before pulling her in for a hug. His kiss at the top of her head made her curl her arms at his back and stay there. "You're in love, and I think that's the best way to honor your mom."

Unspoken was the condemnation against her job, but she shook it off and told him the rest.

"They're going to make me detective," she murmured, closing her eyes and bracing herself.

"Oh, thank you God," he sighed, and his hug tightened, drew her inexorably closer. "That's - what a relief."

"A relief?"

"Get you off the street. Working with your brain instead of your body. I'm - oh I'm so glad."

She huffed at him, pulled back enough to see his face. "Instead of my body?"

"No more streetwalking."

"Dad, you do know I wasn't actually a prostitute," she growled, rolling her eyes at him.

He grinned back, and the shock of that teasing smile sent a current straight through her, made her momentarily dumb.

"I know. Still - dangerous work. At least this way you're making a difference to people, not just another grunt on the street."

She smiled back at him, shook her head. "Right." And her mother's case. But maybe it was better that they not talk about it.

The rasp of his cheek against hers as he came in again was nearly her undoing: a host of childhood memories flooded her with the smell of books and her father's five o'clock shadow at her skin. She took in a long, steadying breath and opened her eyes again.

"Alexis," she called.

The girl hopped up and came right over, her glass bottle cradled against her chest. "Yeah, Kate?"

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Um, all?"

Her father laughed and Kate sighed, reached out to tug on Alexis's braid. "All right, well. Ignore the cursing and don't mention the marriage stuff to your dad, okay?"

"I can keep a secret, but. . .not for long."

Kate gaped at her. "Is that. . .a threat?"

Jim laughed, loudly, startling them both. He winked at Kate and reached over to squeeze Alexis's shoulder. "Between us, sweetheart, we'll get them married sooner rather than later."

"Dad," Kate hissed.

"Good." Alexis grinned back, sounding pleased with herself.

No. No, _not_ good.

* * *

He saw them standing at the edge of the driveway, just like he'd dropped them off. He'd spent a couple hours killing time in the public library, anxious and wishing she would've let him tag along, but understanding why not.

Kate looked stirred up. The peace that he'd managed to bring to her Friday and this morning - that had vanished, as he had expected it might. But his daughter standing right at her side looked thrilled.

Huh, well. "Good visit?" he asked when Kate opened the door.

Alexis climbed in behind him and darted forward to kiss his cheek, presenting him with a multi-colored bottle. Sand. In a bottle.

"I made you something, Dad."

"Wow. That's super cool. They had stuff to do?" He took the sand from her and held it up - a riot of rainbows. "Fuschia. That's an exciting color. And that neon blue, great choice. Alexis, you are an artist. You made this?"

"She made it," Kate sighed, then gave him a flickering smile. "They had a kind of exhibition going on. Hands on."

"Awesome, I'll put it in the cupholder so it won't spill."

"It's got a top," Alexis said, rather haughtily. That was her _I know a secret_ voice.

As he drove off the Dunes compound, he slid his eyes back to his daughter in the rear view mirror, watched her struggle with her seat belt, then glanced over at Kate. She had her lips pressed together, her belt already on.

"What happened?"

Kate gave him another one of those closed-mouthed smiles, shook her head. "He's - getting back to himself. I think. It's good."

"You think he's getting back to himself, or you think it's good?"

She cast him another flash of a smile for that. "Yes to both?"

"Ah. As a father, I can only apologize-"

"I liked him," Alexis piped up. "He was growly, but he was nice to me."

Castle let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and Kate suddenly took his hand, squeezed. Her voice was quiet, pitched low so it couldn't be heard over the engine.

"I wouldn't have taken her if I thought he'd hurt her feelings," Kate murmured.

He nodded. "I know."

"But you didn't know," she said, and he heard incredulousness in her tone. Like it had just dawned on her.

He hadn't meant to offend her with that, but-

"Castle," she said quietly. "Thank you for giving her to me anyway."

He jerked his head to her, surrpised, then had to glance back at the road, but the softness in her face and the tenderness in her eyes was branded in his vision.

He cleared his throat. "But I can have her back now?"

She was smirking at him; he didn't need to see it to know. Her hand squeezed over his fingers and he felt her body turning to look at Alexis.

"I suppose. So long as I can keep borrowing her. Alexis is a pretty great wing man."

Castle laughed at that, shifted his eyes quickly to her and back. "That she is."

Alexis leaned forward, propping her elbows on their seats. "I hold my own. And Dad? You have to wait at least ninety days."

Ninety days?

Kate made a strangled noise, shot a look at Alexis he couldn't interpret.

Alexis shook her head. "My bad. It's been, what? Um, like thirty or something? So only sixty more days, I think. Kate, did I do the math right?"

"Kate?"

"Until we drive back here to pick up my dad. That's all. Alexis. That's all."

He shot a bewildered look over at her pursed mouth, the tension in her face, then back to his giggling daughter. Both of them were complicit in keeping something from him.

"So it's a mystery, huh?" he said, reaching out to snag Kate's hand again. "I'll have you know. I'm excellent at mysteries."

She shot a growling look at his daughter and then used their joined hands to poke him in the chest.

"Sorry, Ricky, but this is a msytery you're never gonna solve."

* * *

He had pulled out a couple of fleece blankets when he saw her head for the deck, but they were still on the back of the couch when he came downstairs. Alexis was tucked into bed - she really was getting too old for it, but he held on to the ritual - and she was reading, but Kate was out on the bench, her knees curled up as she stared out over the dark sand.

He grabbed the blankets and slid out through the crack in the sliding glass door, closed it behind him to keep the warmth inside. She turned her head and watched him come, leaned forward in silent invitation.

Castle sat at her back, draped one blanket around her knees, up under her chin, tossed the other around his shoulders, his arms cradling her. She leaned against him and he felt her sigh go all through her body. She still carried some tension, and he pressed his mouth to her neck, warmed his nose at her skin.

She shivered and laughed at him; he slid his palm up her stomach, dragged the back of his fingers over her shirt.

Kate hummed, turned her head slightly to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"How's your Dad, really?" he murmured.

"Grieving," she said softly. "Letting go. Healing. I don't know. He thinks my job is the same as his alcoholism."

"Your workaholicism?" he sighed, gave her a slight smile to show he didn't believe it.

But she tensed again. "Castle-"

"Joke. Sorry," he sighed, then found her jaw, gave her a feathering kiss as he traced circles against her stomach. "You haven't been, you know. Maybe you started out that way, but we've had - I get to see you a lot. You always come up for air."

"But I should've been helping you with the book, and instead I got sucked into that case-"

"Just for a week or so. Just until it was over. And not-"

"But when I'm a detective, there will always be a case," she said quietly.

He stilled, felt the slow and painful beat of his heart in his chest. "Okay. What does - what are you saying?"

"I don't know - I'm just explaining how it is. What will happen. And I don't want to be obsessed with my job like my father is with the bottle."

"So maybe you need rehab."

She stiffened, but he gentled his words with the sure touch of his hands against her.

"Isn't that what we're doing, Kate?" He kissed her mouth this time, a soft touch of his tongue to the seam of her lips, felt her part for him. When he'd made his point, he drew away, inched his fingers under the hem of her shirt. "Wouldn't you say this has been good for us both? You're good for me. I hope I'm good for you."

She shivered when his fingers found bare skin; her body turned into his. "Yes. You're - yes. Me too."

"I love you, Kate." He felt the answering tremor in her body, the heat flare behind her eyes. "So if that means you get a case and I have to remind you to come home, that's what I'll do. Or. . ."

She kissed him, pressing into him, her knees between them and the blankets tangling. "Or?"

"Or you can let me come with you on the case."

She broke away, laughing at that, but he was serious. And she sobered quickly, met his eyes.

"For how long?"

"Until the book is done. Until the series is done. Until you don't need me as a reminder to come home anymore."

Kate pressed up into his mouth again, a long kiss that made him forget what he was saying, where he was, the point to anything other than this, their mouths and his hands at her skin and her leg wrapping around his waist.

"Okay."

"Okay?" he murmured.

"Okay, you can ride-along with me. At the 12th. When they make me detective."

He pulled back, grinning, his flare of arousal and triumph mingling. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Castle. But the rules still stand."

"I do what you say," he agreed.

"Always," she insisted.

He grinned again, leaned forward to nip her bottom lip, that cute and fierce look she had. "Always."

* * *

The force of the impact made him grunt, and he curled in on himself in bed, eyes cracking open, hands automatically stabling the body that had landed on top of his.

"Rick," she was murmuring, kneading his shoulders as she perched on him.

He slitted his eyes at her, brought his hands up to her back so he could tug her down against him, warm in the chilled air of his bedroom. "Kate. Hi."

She laughed softly, pressed her mouth to his, lips closed but insistent and forceful. "Get up. Come see."

"Don't need to get up to see. I see you just fine-"

She tweaked his ear and tugged; he yelped and came awake, sitting up in a jerk with her held against his chest. She chuckled and darted her mouth to his ear, kissed him again.

"Don't ruin my fun. Come see. And put your pants on."

"Get out of bed _and_ get dressed? This is sounding less and less like fun," he groused, but he let her shove him into movement, dragging on his pajama pants and a sweatshirt, matching her in style.

She took him by the hand and led him down the long, vast hallway towards the main staircase. Her hair was messy and curling at her chin, still half-wet, making it look like she'd run out in the rain.

He flexed his fingers and felt her answering squeeze, her head turning to see him over her shoulder with a saucy glance that had him stumbling down the last two steps.

Castle bumped a kiss against the corner of her mouth, but she was still moving, dragging him out towards the formal sitting room, past the long and shiny kitchen, back to the living room.

He faltered when the vast expanse of the sky met his eyes through the sliding glass doors.

"Look," she said softly, and tugged a little, making him trip along behind her.

"Oh my God," he murmured, blinking against the reflection of the stormy ocean and the leaden sky.

"It's snowing," she breathed.

He stood there and took it in, the drift of heavy snow over the sand, melting into the waves, the way it built up breathlessly only to disappear in a blink of an eye. The shoreline itself looked snow-dusted, but it was just the grains of sand themselves, pale grey in the light.

"Go get Alexis," she urged, nudging her hip into his, releasing his hand. "Castle. Go get her."

"Yeah," he said dumbly, twisted to go back upstairs, share with her this one thing they'd always wanted to see.

He paused in the door, turned his head to look at Kate Beckett standing against the glass, her body outlined by the weak winter light, snow swirling behind her.

"Kate."

She gave him the profile of her face and the curve of a smile; she was beautiful.

He loved her. He would always hold this moment to him, this and the way she looked in the Metropolitan Museum; they would soften his heart when those nights came where she couldn't make it back to him, where the case kept her away and his daughter needed him but Kate couldn't follow.

This moment. He would wait for her as long as it took until she could come home to him.

"I love you too," she murmured. "Go get your daughter."


End file.
